Limens
by Littlefoxylove
Summary: 6.09 AU. Hearts are complicated enough when they're whole. Sharon and Andy work through broken hearts, broken lives, and find a new beginning in the end of an era. Finally updated again, so sorry.
1. That Sea, The Gambler

_**A/N- Well. . . I got completely fucking wrecked by that, last night. I still feel like I'm in a state of disbelief. Anyways, I don't want to deal with that so we're going to run with canon up until the last thirty seconds of 6x09, and then it's AU from there. Again, I'm not a doctor lol, so this is probably wildly inaccurate. But I'm having fun, and I hope you will, too. Not mine (I wish), no harm meant.**_

 _ **Much of the medical science in this season seemed. . . off. Cardiomyopathy is a muscular disorder, whereas pericarditis is inflammation of the outer lining of the heart. It also seems unlikely a cardiologist would take such a laid-back approach to a patient if it was possible their condition could kill them within a few days. . . leading me to think her illness was rushed along for the purpose of the script. I'm also rather unsure what a "cardiac seizure" is, if it even**_ **is** _ **at all.**_

 _ **Be that as it is, I'm not writing to debate a past history of poor medicinal depiction. Whatever. I'll let that sleeping dog lie. We'll run with that idea that she collapsed, some kind of acute heart failure, that an LVAD has been part of the plan since the beginning. Let's go.**_

* * *

 _Oh we were sea bound, and aimless at best / Clutching to the wheel and those charts_

 _But that sea was just a gambler at heart_

 _Gregory Alan Isakov_

* * *

Rusty froze as the double doors leading from the waiting room began to open again. He didn't see Andy move, but somehow the man was beside him. The both stood in silent anticipation. It had been hours since they had arrived at the hospital.

Sharon's doctor stepped through the doors, sweaty and tired. He pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed.

She was gone, Rusty knew it. He couldn't- wouldn't- believe it. She hadn't said goodbye. She-

"Your wife is stronger than any of us gave her credit for, Detective Flynn."

Is. _Is._

Rusty sucked in a deep breath. Flynn's hand came down heavily on his shoulder as the older man leaned heavily against him for a moment.

"She's okay?" Rusty asked.

The doctor's mouth twisted slightly, and he reached up to pull his scrub cap off. "She made it though surgery, but she's a long way from okay."

"Can we see her?"

"I'm sorry, but no. Like I said it's still very much touch-and-go right now."

"Doc-" Andy interjected.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Flynn." Dr. Torres reached out and clasped the older man's hand. "Your wife's heart fully arrested- stopped- while she was in the OR. Just on its own, that fact indicates that she's very weak right now, and she's been having trouble leading up to this. She's unconscious right now, and we're keeping her heavily sedated. I want her to have time to stabilize and heal some while we look into our options."

"A donor-?"

"Yeah. Here let's sit down." He guided the three of them to the chairs by the front desk, and all of them dropped heavily into their seats. "Right now, I don't think she's leaving this hospital until she gets a new heart. We'll reevaluate later, but you're going to need a small miracle to get her out before we find a donor, to be frank."

Rusty looked at Flynn. The man looked ashen, and his mouth was half-open.

"I take it she's getting moved up on the transplant list?" Flynn said with a sad chuckle.

"She's near the top, now, yes. I know she had reservations about it, but she's a good candidate. She doesn't smoke, doesn't drink, she's otherwise very healthy, and I think a new heart would take her a long way."

Rusty chewed on his lip. "Will she. . . will she wake up any time between now and then?"

"We can't know right now. It depends on how long it takes to get a heart and how strong her body is. If she makes it through the night, we'll see about deceasing the sedatives."

"If she. . ."

Torres nodded slowly. "If she makes it through the night. I'm sorry, but that's not a certain thing. We're doing everything we can, but sometimes, that's not enough. It's up to Sharon right now."

Flynn looked down at his hands, his rings. "If I know her, she's probably having a sit-down with God and arguing about something. Interrogating Him."

Rusty laughed before he could help it, and it turned to a small sob. "Yeah. That'd be Mom." He slowly got up. "I need to call Ricky and Emily. I think Em's in the air, but Ricky's not."

"Take your time, kid. We'll be here." He took a deep breath and turned to the young physician again. "So, Doc, be honest with me. What are her odds looking like?"

"Slim. To be completely honest."

Flynn nodded, still watching his hands. "Okay."

"I said slim, not none. She's got a chance. She was down for a long time before we got pulses back, but the paramedics said you guys were doing really good CPR when they got there. That's a good start. Your wife is a fighter, Mr. Flynn."

"Andy. Andy's fine." He made a mental note to speak to Julio later and thank him, if nothing else.

The doctor reached over to clasp the other man's shoulder. "Andy. She's made it through two of these cardiac seizures and the pacemaker implantation already. That's a lot of stress on her system, but she made it. Don't give up on her yet."

"I'll never give up on her, doc. You don't have to worry about that."

"Okay. That's good. I want to tell you about what we did and our plan moving forward, okay?"

"Yeah."

"So, we took her to surgery and opened her chest so we could physically put hands on her heart to get it going. As you and Sharon and I talked about earlier, we decided to put in the LVAD right then, while she was already under. She's going to need it any way that she comes through this, and I didn't want to risk a third surgery if I could help it, okay?"

"Yeah."

"She looks pretty bad right now, and that's part of why I don't want you going to see her right now. She's on a ventilator, there are IVs, and she's got chest tubes to help drain fluid. It looks scary, but everything machine and tube in there is doing a job and taking stress off her body. The LVAD placement went well, and it's doing its job, basically just helping her heart pump."

They sat in silence for a moment longer before the doctor got to his feet and held out a hand to help Andy up as well. "I know you're both religious, so there will be a chaplain out soon to sit with you. I'll come and find you if there are any changes or if she stabilizes enough to have a visitor. Just one at a time for now, but you can switch out with each other."

Flynn watched the man go and turned back to the rest of his family. Rusty hadn't returned, and they were all watching with baited breath. He walked back slowly, not thinking about what to tell them. His mind felt like static-y white noise, dominated by the image of Sharon. Sharon laughing at him, smiling, hugging Rusty, hanging her damn angel ornaments on the Christmas tree that was entirely too large for the condo.

"Well?" Provenza had stood up and was staring at him.

"She's hanging in there, but it's touch-and-go. They did the LVAD surgery, and she's in the ICU now. We can't see her." He bit down on his lip and blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"Oh, well." Provenza pulled his handkerchief out and dabbed at his eyes. "That's something. She's too much of a stick in the mud to go this easily." His voice broke at the end, and he did his best to ignore it.

Julio laughed slightly, nodding his head along. "The Commander would be so pleased with herself if she could see you now. I don't think she thought you were capable of any emotions other than annoyance and exasperation, sir." The laughter sounded forced, and Andy could see the tension in Julio's shoulders.

"Ye gods, that woman."

It was like the ice had broken. Suddenly, everyone was sharing their own stories and laughing quietly. Andy watched them silently. She would have loved it, he thought. She'd told him that she didn't want a funeral to honor her memory; she wanted a celebration of life. There was too much love and joy for everyone's last memories of her to be sad. She'd whispered it to him late at night as they laid in bed.

He lowered his head and prayed.

* * *

"Ricky?"

"Rusty? What's wrong?" Ricky could hear the panic in his brother's voice.

There was a muffled stutter.

"Rusty?" Ricky stopped in the middle of the concourse, his blood turning to ice. She was dead. His mother was dead.

"She's hanging in there, but-" Rusty stopped.

"Rusty?" It was little more than a whisper.

"She. . . She was at work. . . We were trying to get her home, but. . . She-"

"She's Mom. You can't force her into anything. I know."

"I was trying, Ricky. So was Flynn, and the whole team. And she. . . She just. . . She had another seizure thing and she went down really hard, and it was really bad, Ricky."

Ricky could hear his brother crying. Rusty must have gone somewhere private.

"Oh my God, it was bad. But they got her to the hospital and she had surgery and we can't see her, but she's hanging in here."

"Hey, hey, deep breath. Are you okay?"

There was a wet, sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, sure."

"You said she-"

"Don't worry about what happened earlier. Just get here, okay? We need you."

"Okay. If you get to see her, tell her I love her, okay?" Ricky's voice cracked on the last word.

"I will. She knows that, but I will."

"Okay. Okay. I love you, too. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. I do. I love you, too. I'll see you soon."

"Okay."

"Okay."


	2. Hope There's Someone

_**A/N- This chapter was brought to you by my day off, approximately four cups of coffee, and themagicm's gif sets. This updated version has a kind of sad hospital-y bit in the middle with Provenza.**_

* * *

 _Hope there's someone who'll take care of me / When I die, will I go? /_

 _Hope there's someone who'll set my heart free /_ _Nice to hold when I'm tired_

 _Anthony and the Johnsons_

* * *

"Flynn." There was heavy hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. "Flynn."

"Huh?" Andy blinked and straightened in his chair. Provenza stood before him, frowning. "What's-?"

"Go home, Flynn."

Andy sighed in exasperation. "We've been over this."

"Yeah, and you aren't going to do Sharon any good if you keel over. At least one of you needs to stay employed, and it's not going to be her."

"Louie. . ."

"Flynn." His partner sat down next to him, passing him a styrofoam cup of coffee, despite the hour. "It's late, and you need to get some rest. They aren't letting anyone in to see her tonight."

"It's been almost twenty-four hours. Torres said she's been doing okay."

"Yeah, and that's all the more reason for you to go home and get some rest now. Once she comes around, she'll need you. She doesn't need anyone except Torres and his team right now. I'm sorry." The old man did look repentant. "Get some rest, Flynn. I'll stay here. Take the kids home."

They both knew Provenza had played his ace.

Andy looked out across the waiting room. Rusty was sitting with his head in his hands. He hadn't moved in hours, and Andy was no longer sure if the kid was awake or not. Emily had curled up in the chair next to him. She had cried herself to sleep a while ago, but he could see her face was still blotched and sticky with tears.

Ricky was the only person still moving. He had paced the small room until Emily had snapped at him. The confrontation had quickly devolved into tears, just as Nicole walked in.

Andy had called his daughter early in the morning. She liked Sharon, he knew, but they weren't so close he wanted to call and wake his daughter up before she got the boys to school. She had been stunned by the news, but promised to come as quickly as possible to help sit vigil for a women she hardly knew.

She had walked into a whirlwind of tears and yelling and calmly grabbed Ricky's arm and towed him out of the room. She had texted her father a few minutes later to say that she and Ricky were walking through the hospital. He needed to pace, just not in sight of the others. Again, that had been hours ago. Andy knew the two of them had been alternating between walking and sitting in the chapel, but they hadn't returned.

"Yeah, okay."

He stood and pulled his phone out, walking to the corner to dial Nicole. She picked up immediately.

"Hey, sweetheart."

"Hey, Dad. Is there news?"

"No. I was thinking I could take the kids home for a bit, though. They aren't letting anyone back, and I need to be there for her when she's awake, so I should get some rest now."

"Okay." The was a pause. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't wanna. . . I don't want to be weird, but have you talked to your sponsor? Tony, is that right?"

He smiled faintly. "It's not weird, honey. I called Tom a while ago. I'm not going to a meeting now, but he said he'd come here if I need him to. He's a good guy. I'm sure he'll check in even if I don't call again."

"Good. I'm glad."

"Me, too." He sighed. "Ready to come back?"

"Yeah. I think Rick's exhausted. We've just been sitting in the chapel. I don't think he's even praying anymore. He's just sitting there. I'll go get him."

"Thanks. Are you doing okay?"

Nicole laughed slightly. "Dad, I should be asking you that. I'm okay. I like Sharon a lot, but she's not my wife. Don't worry about me."

"I love you."

"Love you, too."

She hung up, and he walked over to kneel between Rusty and Emily.

"Hey, kid."

Rusty jolted awake, startling Gus. "Whah? Whasgoingon?"

"Hey, shh." Andy rested his hand on the kid's knee as Rusty oriented himself.

"Andy?"

"Hey, nothing's changed. I'm just taking you and Em and Rick home."

"N-"

"Rusty. Provenza made a good point to me. We aren't going to get to see Sharon tonight. She's not awake, but when she is she's going to need us, and we can't be at half-mast for her then."

Rusty inhaled deeply, still half-asleep. "Okay. I guess."

Andy turned to Emily to let Rusty have some semblance of privacy with Gus.

"Em." He shook her shoulder gently. "Emily."

She slowly looked at him. Her eyes were heavily bloodshot and glassy.

"What?"

"We're going to go home for a little bit. Your mom isn't up, and I don't think we'll get to see her tonight."

"Okay." She sat up and began packing her purse up. After the fight with Ricky, the energy seemed to have drained from her. She moved like a zombie.

Andy's retreat to his own corner was interrupted by Sanchez.

"Sir."

Andy turned to look at him.

"We'll take turns, sir."

"Julio-"

The man remained staunch. "We'll take turns. She's not going to be alone. One of us will be here all the time."

Andy could see Amy and Tao both nodding.

"Andy," Tao called. "It would be our honor."

There was suddenly a lump in his throat. Andy nodded and turned back to Provenza.

"If you could finish getting the kids ready, I'll go tell her nurses that you're all to have full privileges, too." He walked to the front desk and asked for one of Sharon's team. The woman nodded silently and vanished into the back.

A few minutes later, a woman with iron-grey hair emerged and introduced herself as Kelly, Sharon's head nurse.

"I'd like her squad to have familial privileges."

Kelly looked slightly taken aback for a moment, then softened. "Mr. Flynn. . ."

"They're holding vigil for her." He had to stop as his eyes watered. "They're refusing to go home, and it's the least I can do." He felt the tears start to slide down his face. "They're family. They don't need to be her next of kin, they just need to be with her. I'll fill out whatever paperwork-"

Kelly pulled a notepad out of her pocket. "Write their names down, and I'll print off a form for you to sign."

"Thank you."

She nodded silently and disappeared again as he began writing.

 _Louis and Patrice Provenza_

 _Michael Tao_

 _Julio Sanchez_

 _Amy Sykes_

 _Andrea Hobbs_

 _Wes Nolan_

 _Camilla Paige_

He paused, debating about the chief. Both chiefs, he realized.

 _Fritz Howard and Brenda Johnson_

 _Leo Mason_

Within minutes, Kelly returned, and the paperwork was in order.

Flynn gathered his coat and keys slowly as the squad watched. He smoothed his coat over his arm and turned to face them.

"I made sure you're all allowed to see her whenever she can have visitors. They'll still call me first if anything happens, but you're all allowed to see her as soon as they let you." He swallowed. "Thank you. For everything."

The drive home was silent, and, in retrospect, Andy didn't remember any of it. The four of them made it into the condo before anyone made a noise. He unlocked the door, held it open for the kids, and almost crashed into Emily's back.

The Christmas tree was still lit up in the corner of the room. It wrapped in tinsel and lights and covered in dozens Sharon's damn angels. They had all teased her mercilessly about the collection over the years. The rest of the home was dark, but it was clear that Sharon was everywhere. She was in the organized shoes by the door, the glass over the ballet posters that reflected the light of the tree, the sofa that had suddenly become a messy nest of blankets after she had taken a downturn.

Emily whimpered, deep in her throat, before bursting into loud, heart-wrenching sobs. Rusty looked at her, then at Andy, misery clear on him face. The lieutenant wasn't expecting a tow-headed shot to the heart, but Rusty barreled into him, silently dampening Flynn's collar, rather than running. Ricky watched the display, eyes reddening, and shuffled his sister closer to the other men until they all stood in a shaking, tearful group.

Andy wasn't sure how long it took for the sobs to subside and leave only quivers in their place. They split up, taking turns in the bathroom, making tea in the kitchen and drinking it from Sharon's color-coordinated mugs. She had left a half-empty mug on the counter. It was pearly lavender stoneware, with "speak your kind" emblazoned on it in copper. One of the kids had gotten for her at some point. There was a dark lip print on on its edge, and he rubbed his thumb over it, smearing Sharon-red across his thumb. He stood there, staring at it, until the bathroom door opened again.

It was his turn. He tried to avoid looking at Sharon's things in the bathroom, but they were inescapable there, too. The vanity was crowded with mascara, concealer, and a half dozen pill bottles among their toothbrushes. The room smelled like her spruce candle and there was still a pink sticky note on the mirror. Several months before, when _he_ was home sick, she had been called out early and left the note on the mirror for him to find.

 _I love you._

The three words curled across the paper in inky loops and smudged connections.

 _I love you, too._

When all was said and done, he couldn't get in bed. It held too many memories of Sharon. Their books were on the nightstands: hers was a copy of _Shannon,_ his a battered history of baseball that was as familiar to him as she was. Her side of the bed had the covers thrown back. She had gotten restless at some point and gotten up to get dressed. He lifted the pillow and inhaled. It smelled like her. It smelled like rosemary and flowers and hazelnut coffee. There was some unique twist to all of that that made it Sharon, and not just a sensory bouquet. He set the pillow down, smoothing it, picked up his, and walked back out to the living room.

All three of Sharon's- _their_ \- kids were there. One of them had made sandwiches, but they sat untouched on the coffee table. Emily was huddled under a blanket between her brothers.

"Can't sleep?" She offered.

"No. Not in there, anyways." They were old enough to understand. There was no point in hiding the truth from them.

Emily's face fell anyways, but she nodded, and Andy sat down on the end of the sofa next to Rusty.

"I thought about taking some Benadryl to sleep," she said tonelessly. "But then I wondered if it'd make me sleep through my phone ringing. I don't think I can sleep."

"Try."

She turned to him.

"Andy. Are you going to sleep?"

He held her gaze and answered honestly. "I'm going to close my eyes and see what happens. I might sleep, I might not."

Her mouth twisted, but she nodded. "Fair enough."

They lapsed into silence again as the room steadily got darker.

* * *

Louie Provenza would never admit to it, but he had badged his way into Sharon's room, citing Phillip Stroh and potential danger. He didn't think the night staff truly believed him, but they let him back. Eventually. He also told them not to tell Mrs. Flynn's husband. The man had enough on his plate.

It was dark in her room, but not quiet. He wasn't prepared for that. There were overlapping beeps from various monitors, clicks as IV pumps measured medications, the creak of the blood pressure cuff inflating, and- over all of that- the hiss of the ventilator.

It seemed wrong in the deepest sense of the word. His first memories of Sharon Raydor were of a hard-ass cop who wouldn't leave him the hell alone. He hadn't known her when she was a patrol officer, only after she had transferred to Internal Affairs. She was a stick in the mud. No, she was a whole God-damn log, unbreakable and immovable.

She hadn't grown on him like she had Chief Johnson. Provenza had always wondered what the two women had seen in each other, until it hit him one day. They were the two top-ranking women in a building of men. They were each other's only allies.

She had taken his job from him, usurped his authority, won over his best friend, _dated_ his best friend, and even seen the inside of his own house, complete with duck-shaped lamps. She couldn't desert him now.

"I refuse to allow it, Commander." The words floated into the darkness as he gripped the foot of her bed. "I refuse this promotion. I will quit." Like the threat he'd made to the hospital staff to get into the room, this one was quavering and empty. He sighed heavily. "I was supposed to be the one who would go at work. I planned on being there until the end, donating my retirement fund towards something. . . I don't know. Bike helmets for kids, or something. It wasn't supposed to be you." He moved around the bed and sat in the chair next to her.

She seemed small and unlike herself. There was an IV taped into her jugular vein- Provenza had learned that bit of anatomy from Morales once- and others in each arm. Wiring ran under the white blanket. Some of the cords were the thin ones he'd seen her wearing last time she was in the hospital, but a couple others were thicker, running to another machine that was plugged into an outlet. The ventilator was the bulkiest machinery, and Provenza was familiar with it, had seen it before on other cops. It rarely resulted in a pleasant outcome.

He sighed again and slipped his hand under hers. Her ring finger was bare, and he looked for her rings. There was a small plastic bag on a cabinet shelf. He reached for it and caught it, but it knocked the fabric underneath it to the floor. He looked away. It was the tattered remnants of her slacks and the burgundy blouse he never wanted to see again.

Both rings, her Commander's badge, watch, and phone were in the bag, same as before. He clicked the phone's home button through the plastic, and it lit up with a picture of her and Flynn, both smiling widely. Provenza's heart twisted. There were a few news alerts, and several alerts from her cardiac program. He inhaled sharply. The program must have kept running through the trauma of the previous days. He was shocked the phone wasn't dead, and glanced at the battery. Five percent. Sharon must have had it fully charged when she had gotten to work in the afternoon. He didn't know her passcode, so he turned the phone off. Flynn didn't need to see the alerts.

He tucked the bag into his pocket to give to his partner, and made a mental note to let the staff know.

"You can't leave him, Sharon. That's the one thing I'd never forgive you for. Stay."

* * *

Andy jumped suddenly, jerking back into full wakefulness. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he clearly had. The room was black, squares of carpet lit only by moonlight. He looked over, and all three Raydors were out cold on the sofa, sprawled over and under each other.

He eased himself out from under Rusty and the blanket, and stretched, before drawing his phone out of his breast pocket and heading to Rusty's room to call Provenza.

There were no calls and no texts waiting, which he interpreted as a good sign. The phone clicked on, and he tapped Provenza's name, second only to Sharon on the speed dial.

"Flynn." His parter sounded tired, but not groggy. He'd probably been awake. "It's five in the morning. What?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to call. I- something woke me up. I don't know what, but the kids are still asleep and I wanted to check in."

"Not much to check on. I'm here, and Sykes will be here in a few hours. She's not allowed visitors yet," Provenza paused to cough. "But there haven't been any changes, either. Her doc came out when he went home for the night. I think he was glad you went home. Said the same thing I told you. He said they'll try easing her off the vent later today, see if she can breathe on her own. That's about all."

"That's early, isn't it?"

There was a disgruntled huff. "I don't know. It all depends on how good her vitals are. Maybe she's better than average."

"Of course she's better than average."

"Flynn." It was soft and gentle. "Expect the best, prepare for the worst."

"I don't think I can prepare for that." He sat heavily on Rusty's bed.

"I don't want to, either, but. . . I'll be here for you. The whole team will. We'll help you keep it together, whatever happens."

"Thank you."

They sat in silence, listening to each other breathe. Finally Andy spoke again.

"Do you think her kids would kill me if I left them here?"

There was a soft chuckle. "Rusty wants to get into law school and Emily seems too nice, but I wouldn't put it past Rick to take a swing at you."

"They have Rusty's car. They can drive themselves over."

"Yeah." A pause. "I think they'd understand. Leave a note for them and come on over."

"You aren't going to tell me to stay here?"

He could practically see the old man roll his eyes. "Since when do you listen to me?"

* * *

Andy arrived at Cedars an hour later. He'd left a message on the coffee table, simply telling the kids to get breakfast, and then join him if they felt like it.

His partner was sitting in the corner, fingers steepled together in his lap.

"Louie."

"Flynn."

"Here." He had picked up two cups of coffee, one black for him, one with a single sugar for Provenza.

"You have good timing, if nothing else. Torres got here maybe half an hour before you, said he's going on rounds and he'll be back to talk to you. I told him you were on your way."

"Thanks." Andy kept standing, knowing he'd likely be sitting much of the day. "You should get out of here. Not that I don't like seeing your ugly mug, but I don't want the day shift getting off to a rough start when they see you over here." He tried to smile, but it felt awkward.

Provenza snorted nonetheless. "Take it easy. Call me. Sykes will be here in a while."

"I will." He watched his partner leave, and slowly lapped the waiting room as he drank his coffee. The news was on a TV in the corner, muted, with the captions flickering across the bottom of the screen. He didn't have to wait long before someone reached out to tap him on the shoulder.

It was Torres, his hair ruffled, and looking tired.

"Lieutenant."

"Doc. How is she?"

"Holding steady. She's not great, but she's hanging in there, about where she was last night."

"Can I-"

"Do-"

They spoke at the same time, voices overlapping. The doctor spoke again.

"Do you want to see her?"

"Can I?"

"Yeah. I think it'll be alright. It'll be shocking, though. I want you to know that."

"Okay."

"She's still on the ventilator, so that means she's intubated. There are a couple IVs, and one of them is in her neck. She's got all the hardware for the LVAD on, too. And Lieutenant, she took a beating yesterday, so she just plain doesn't look good, okay?" The doctor maintained eye contact, speaking clearly and watching for understanding.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Okay then. Follow me."

The walked back through the double doors and down a wide hall next to the nurses' station. There was a large cart against the wall, and Torres stopped at it, pulling drawers open. He passed a filmy yellow gown, booties, and a mask to Andy, and got a set for himself.

"We gown up in the ICU because so many of the patients are so delicate. We'll grab gloves before we go into her room."

"I take it Sharon's one of the delicate patients?"

"Yes. Very much so."

They pulled nitrile gloves off another box on the wall before Torres finally led Andy another dozen steps down the hall. He strategically blocked the taller man's view as he rested his hand on the sliding glass door behind him.

"You're ready?"

Andy nodded, not trusting his voice.

Torres pushed the door open and the curtain back as Andy inhaled sharply.

His wife lay small and unmoving on the hospital bed. She didn't look like someone who had been threatening serial killers and police brass a day before. Her chest rose and fell evenly with the ventilator, and a screen in the corner beeped in time with her heart.

Andy stepped closer. He could see the edge of a bandage running up the center of her chest, and he reached for her free hand.

Torres watched for a moment, then slipped outside. The ICU wasn't particularly private, but he didn't need to be right in the man's face. He felt bad enough for them already. Sharon Flynn was a cop, a career cop, but she was one of the sweetest patients he'd had in a long time. She was patient and kind, but unforgiving towards herself, he'd found. She was almost punishing in the way she drove herself in her cases. He felt bad because she was one of his fluke patients, one of the ones who did everything right but still ended up with the short stick. It didn't help that he knew she likely wouldn't be going back to work if she made it through. Even if they could get a donor heart in time, she'd be out of work far too long to consider going back. He suspected she'd never pass a rigorous physical again, either.

He stopped to lean against the nurses' station.

"Hey, Stacy."

"Yeah?" One of the younger nurses looked up.

"Thanks for making sure she looked good and taking her tape off."

The woman's expression softened. "Of course. How's the hubby doing?"

"He's tough, but they've got a long way to go."

She nodded. "Poor guy."

"Yeah. They just got married, maybe a month ago, too."

"Really? I thought-"

"I think they've known each other for ages, from what they said. And they were engaged for a good while."

"Mmm. I hope she pulls through."

"Me, too."


	3. Beethoven's Sonata No 14, C-Sharp Minor

_**A/N- if you're not feeling up to descriptive hospital stuff, skip about halfway down to the line break. The first half is hospital stuff with Flynn, and the second half is the kids. I researched but also worked today, soooo it may suck on the technical side of things. Thanks for all the reviews, guys. It means a lot.**_

* * *

Sharon was weaned off the ventilator late that evening. It was a long, ugly process that had Sharon- and very nearly Andy- in tears by the end of it.

She woke for the first time shortly after her children had arrived. Andy was still in the room with her as Torres and his team watched her closely. They had spent much of the morning switching her medications around in preparation for allowing her to wake. They were switching out the heavy sedatives for a lesser dose and pain medication. The doctor himself had carefully explained the process and possible outcomes.

 _"Andy, it's also possible was some kind of brain damage when she wasn't breathing. I need you to understand that. As far as we can tell right now, she's in a good place, but we're not magicians, and I want you to be prepared."_

They watched over her in relative silence as the machines around her continued their work.

Her eyelids finally fluttered, and Andy stood, squeezing her hand.

"Sharon."

She moaned quietly, deep in her throat.

"Sharon." This time, it was Torres, close on her other side. "I know this is uncomfortable and strange. Don't fight it. Just let the machine keep breathing."

She moaned again, sounding pained.

Andy grimaced. It was breaking his heart, and there wasn't a thing he could do.

"Sharon, hi, hi." Torres grinned widely behind his mask and motioned Andy forward. "Look who's here to see you. Don't try and talk, okay?"

Andy held her hand as he moved closer to her head, and leaned over so she could see him. Her eyes were glazed with pain and medication, but they lit up when he came into view.

"Hey, babe." He squeezed her hand and felt her fingers flutter in response.

"Sharon?" It was Torres again, and her gaze slowly swung to him. "We're working on getting you off this machine, okay?" He spoke clearly and pointed to the ventilator where she could see it. "I need you to just let it do its job. Don't fight it. We're going to slowly turn it off so you can do more and more of your own breathing. Do you understand? Blink twice if you do."

Andy watched her face in frozen nervousness. She looked to him, then back at her doctor, and blinked twice. Andy exhaled sharply in relief.

Torres grinned. "That's good. Very good. Are you ready to get started?"

Several hours later, Torres still maintained his cheer. Most of the first couple hours had just been spent making sure Sharon was awake, that her labs were right, and she was following what he said. Afterwards, the time passed at a torturously slow and painful rate. At some point, someone had given her a pad of paper and a marker, to talk with, but she had simply written "love you, mom" on it before dropping it. She hadn't picked it up again. Andy could tell she was hurting.

The medical staff had slowly decreased the pressure on the ventilator until Sharon was breathing on her own, and then they ran her through another battery of tests before pronouncing her ready to be extubated. Her eyes were wide, and she started crying when someone took a small vacuum and suctioned her endotracheal tube for the last time. It was loud, and she was already overwhelmed. She closed her eyes again, and tears leaked down the sides of her face and into her hair once again.

Andy clasped her cool hand in both of his and talked to her as they took the tube out. He was shocked that they had allowed him to stay, but he didn't mention it, staying in his seat and keeping quiet as they worked.

"Hey, Sharon, look at me, look at me."

She coughed and glanced at him briefly.

"I've got you. It's okay. Squeeze my hand, okay?"

He was surprised by the force she mustered. Her nails dug into his palm, but he held on until the tube was out. There was a loud clatter as it was dropped on the equipment tray, and the nurse immediately fixed an oxygen mask over Sharon's face, sliding the elastic into place over her ears.

"Andy." Her voice was quiet and rough. She coughed again and sunk deeper into her pillow.

"Yeah. I'm here."

She nodded slightly and took a deep breath, grimacing.

"That's good," Torres cut in. "Good. Keep breathing as deeply as you can and cough whenever you feel the need. They're both good things for you to do." He paused to look at the monitor next to her, checking her stats. "Okay, Sharon, I need you to answer some questions for me. Can you do that?" They had gone through a similar routine earlier, modified and simpler.

"Okay." She had closed her eyes, but retained a sharp grip on Andy's hand.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Mm. . . was at. . . my office."

"Yeah, you were. Do you know where you are now?"

She forced her eyes open and looked around blearily. "Passed out again?"

"Yeah, babe," Andy answered. "You did." Torres had told her the same thing earlier, but said the sedatives and morphine would make it hard for her to keep recalling the fact.

She sighed lightly. "Hospital."

"Okay, good. What's your name?"

She shot the doctor a slow look.

He raised his gloved hands in mock helplessness. "I gotta ask."

"Sharon Ra- Flynn." She coughed. "Sharon Marie Flynn."

"Good, good. What year is it?"

"Seventeen." A cough again.

"Good. Who's the president?"

"An idiot." The two words were the sharpest she had uttered yet.

Torres bit back a laugh, trying to disguise it as a cough. "Alright. I'll accept that."

Sharon moaned faintly, under her breath. It was a soft, huffing noise, and he wasn't sure she was even aware of doing it as she exhaled on her own.

"Are you in pain?"

"Mm." She slowly lifted her hand and swept it over her chest. "Here."

Torres reached out and caught her wrist before she could get tangled in the LVAD wiring or any of her multiple IV lines. "Sharon, keep your hands down for now. There's a lot of tubing up here, and I don't want you to pull on your incision too much. We'll give you a pillow to keep over it, and then you can moved your hands a little more."

"Mm." She inhaled sharply again. "Hurts."

"I know, sweetheart. It's gonna be okay." Andy flexed his hand and readjusted his grip.

"Sharon, we're going to get you some more pain medication rolling and a couple other things, okay? We want to get your pain under control as soon as possible."

"Be nice," she rasped.

Torres smiled at her. "Yeah, that would be nice, wouldn't it." He stepped back and began introducing his staff as they set to work. "Our goal is to get you sitting up tonight. It's going to hurt a lot, but it's important."

Sharon pressed her lips together. "'kay." She breathed deeply again and coughed, twitching her fingers in Andy's hand.

"What is it, babe?"

"Kids."

He raised his eyebrows. "You want me to go to the kids?"

"Mm."

"Are you sure?"

"Mm. Go rest. . . talk to th'kids."

He glanced at Torres, who shrugged. "I hate to tell you, but she's got a good idea. They'd like to see you, I'm sure." It would also be easier to work with one less person in the room.

"Okay. I'll be back soon. I love you."

She rolled her eyes and flicked a finger towards the door, but squeezed his hand tightly once more before he left.

* * *

When Rusty awoke on the sofa at the condo, Flynn had already gone. Rusty wasn't surprised. The coffee mug on the counter was still warm, so the man couldn't have left too long ago. The thought comforted Rusty. He didn't need both parents sick, literally worried sick. It was good that Flynn had stayed home as long as he had, regardless of whether or not he slept.

Rusty puttered around the condo until Ricky and Emily woke up. By that time, he had put together his satchel for the day; gathered a bag of clothes, toiletries, and assorted items for Flynn; and started on breakfast. If he kept his hands busy, it was harder for his mind to leap ahead and think of Sharon.

He picked up a spatula to flip the omelettes over with. There hadn't been any real eggs in the fridge, just a carton of low-cholesterol liquid egg white.

* * *

 _Andy rolled his eyes at his wife. "Egg whites?"_

 _She threw him a grin over her shoulder. "It's good for you. And me," she added as an afterthought. "Do you want spinach?"_

 _Andy turned to Rusty, who was bemusedly watching the scene over the rim of his coffee cup. "Kid, help me out here. Vegetables before seven in the morning is inhumane."_

 _Rusty raised a brow in perfect imitation of his mother. "Two questions, Your Honor." It was a game he played occasionally, after she had begun jokingly addressing her son as_ 'Your Honor.'

 _Sharon barked out a laugh._

 _Rusty raised a finger. "The prosecution is a vegetarian, yes?"_

 _"Oh, come on!"_

 _The second finger went up. "The prosecution married the defense of his own free will."_

 _Sharon giggled as she pulled out the bag of spinach, and Flynn sighed._

 _"The prosecution rests his case," he muttered. "But would like the jury to know that the defense is the Wicked Witch, and her lawyer is just as bad."_

* * *

"Rusty." Ricky stood behind him, hair mussed, looking no better than the night before. "Coffee?" He held out a mug to his younger brother, as the kid flipped the last of three omelettes onto a plate.

"Thanks."

"Yeah." Ricky leaned against the counter, staring into his coffee. "Em's getting a quick shower. Andy left already?"

"Yeah, he was gone when I got up like, an hour ago."

Ricky nodded slowly. "Figures. He hasn't called, though?"

"No."

"I guess everything is the same then."

"Probably."

"Hmm."

They took the food to the table and sat down, eating in silence.

"What's today?" Ricky finally asked.

"Huh?"

"The date."

"Uh," Rusty wracked his mind. It had been the nineteenth when. . . when it happened, and then they had stayed at the hospital a full twenty-four hours. . . "It's the twenty-first, I think."

Ricky nodded slowly. "Maybe she'll be up and awake for Christmas."

"That'd be good."

"Yeah."

"Christmas in the hospital. . ."

They both shivered.

Emily chose that moment to walk in.

"Is Mom awake?"

They both turned to look at her. She hadn't had time to pack, only coming with what she was carrying when she got the call. She had dressed in her mother's clothes: jeans and a sweater, both a little large and overlong on her. She looked miserable.

"I didn't have any clothes, and they smell like Mom." Her mouth puckered, and Rusty could see she was about to cry again.

"Oh, Emmy." Ricky shoved his chair back and went to his sister. Rusty hesitated, but Ricky reached a hand out for him. "Get over here, Squirt. You're stuck with us now, no matter what."

Rusty nodded against Emily's shoulder, a lump in his throat. Emily did smell like their mother, like the lavender sachets Sharon kept in her drawers and closet and the vanilla-jasmine fabric softener she always bought.

They ate breakfast quickly and made their way to the hospital. Rusty found parking near the front, and they made their way in.

"Where do we go?" Emily asked quietly. They hadn't entered through the emergency room like they had the other day.

Rusty took a deep breath. "I'll ask." He led the way to a large desk that seemed to be the place they needed. "Excuse me."

The man on duty looked up at them. "What can I do f-"

"We're looking for our mom." Quickly realizing that wasn't helpful, Rusty added "Sharon Raydor. Or Sharon Flynn, maybe. I'm not sure which name. . ." He reached into his pocket for his wallet, passing his ID to the receptionist.

"Flynn." The man nodded, feeling bad for the three young people before him. According to the records he could see, their mother was in the ICU, and her check-in had been through the emergency department. That combination rarely held a good outcome. "Straight back to the blue doors, elevator on your right, 6th floor. The ICU waiting room will be on your left."

"Thanks."

They found another surprise in the waiting room.

"Amy."

The detective looked up from her iPad. "Hey."

"Have you hea-"

"Nothing yet."

Emily nodded sagely. "Okay."

"Did you see Flynn? He left home before we did."

She shook her head. "I got here at seven. Provenza said the Lieutenant came in a little before six."

"Where is he?"

Amy smiled faintly. "They let him back to sit with the Commander." She leaned back as all three Raydors immediately started asking questions over each other.

"Is she awake?"

"Can we see her?"

"Why? Is she up?"

"She's not awake, I don't think," Amy finally edged out. "No one's come out and told me anything since they came to talk with Lieutenant Flynn. Sit down and I'll tell you." She wrinkled her nose as they quickly dragged chairs together, scraping the legs over laminate tile. "Dr. Torres is back-"

"Jesus," Ricky muttered. "He doesn't sleep either."

"-and he said that he wants to get your mom off the ventilator today. They were going to start on in pretty soon, I think. It sounded like it would take most of the day, even if she responded well."

Ricky nodded. He hadn't ever worked on ventilator programming, but he knew the basics. "Yeah, yeah it would." When everyone turned to him, he continued. "They have to basically slowly lower the pressure the ventilator pushes air with to nothing so Mom can gradually get used to breathing by herself again." He frowned and looked at them. "They have to wake her up to do that." He stood abruptly and crossed to the desk across the hall from the waiting room. It was part of some kind of step down unit. The true ICU was behind a set of double doors further down the hall. "Excuse me?"

A woman with long braids waved him over. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Uh," Ricky stuttered, caught off-guard. _Sir_ was his father. "Uh, I was hoping for an update about Sharon Flynn."

"You're her son or a policeman?" She swept her braids over her shoulder.

"Uh, yeah."

She smiled. "Honey, that's not an answer."

Ricky pinched his nose. "Sorry. I haven't really slept. I'm her son. One of her sons. Richard Raydor."

"Okay." The woman nodded patiently. "I'll go see what I can find out."

Ricky returned to the group, and they watched him pace along the center of the room. Emily did nothing to stop him this time. It felt like another lifetime until the woman returned.

She smiled at them, and Rusty relaxed incrementally.

"Your dad's back there with her."

Emily and Ricky both tensed for a moment, and Rusty spoke softly. "Andy."

"Her doctors are working on waking her up now, and it's going to be awhile. I can tell them you're-"

"No, that's okay," Emily cut in. "Thank you. Andy just needs to focus on her. We're okay."

"Okay. Let me know if you change your minds."

"Thank you." Emily flopped back into her chair.

* * *

 _She remembers her mother chasing her around their new apartment when she wasn't more than three or four. It's not a clear memory; it's one of those hazy, golden ones. It was just the two of them, well, three, really. Her mother was pregnant when they moved, and her father had just left._

 _"I'm going to get you!" Sharon ran with slow, exaggerated steps._

 _"Mommy! Mommy!" Emily shrieked shrilly. "You can't catch me! You can't catch me!" She scrambled over the arm of the sofa and ran unevenly down the cushions. The table shook when she leaped off the far end of the sofa and landed on the floor, and she screeched as her mother embraced her tightly._

 _"I got you, Emmy-bug."_

 _"Momm-mmmy!"_

 _"Mm, I've got you." Sharon buried her face in Emily's downy hair and blew raspberries on her neck. "I." Raspberry. "Love." Another raspberry. "You!" This time she kissed Emily's cheek, and then released her._

 _Emily spun on one heel and looked at her, nose scrunched, giggling. "I wanna be just like you when I grow up."_

* * *

Time lost all meaning. Rusty glanced at the clock on the wall every once in a while, and sometimes it seemed to have moved only five minutes ahead, but other times whole hours disappeared. He eventually stopped looking up every time the blue ICU doors opened. It was never Flynn or Sharon's doctor. He stared at the files on his laptop. There were Stroh files and files from Andrea. She had texted him and told him not to worry about it. He hadn't seen her since she cried in the emergency department with her back turned. Up until then, she had seemed like Sharon, a pillar of stone, always steady and composed. Maybe that was why they got along so well. Neither one of them wanted to cry in publ-

"Rusty!" Emily was squatting in front of him. "Hey."

He blinked before focusing on her. "Huh?"

She pointed to her left. Andy stood there in a dark tee shirt and rumpled jeans, with something clutched on one hand.

Rusty slammed the laptop shut and stood. "What happened?"

The older man smiled slightly. "She's awake."

"Oh my God." For the second time in almost as many days, Rusty caught someone. Emily's knees buckled and she staggered to the side. He held her up until Andy grabbed her other arm and they set her in Rusty's chair. "Oh my God, Andy, she's really awake?" Emily's voice broke.

"Yeah. Yeah, she woke up late this morning, and they've been working on getting her off the vent all day."

"Oh my God, oh my God." Emily gasped in a teary breath and Ricky squeezed her shoulder.

There was a low exhalation behind Flynn, and Julio stepped away, crossing himself. He hadn't spoken much since arriving in the afternoon to relieve Amy. The past two days weighed heavily on him. He had woken up in the middle of the night, dreaming that he still held the Commander in his arms. He was looking for someone, anyone to help, but the building was empty.

He shook himself. She was alive. She was awake. He was awake.

Thank God.

"She. . ." Andy swallowed. "She talked a little bit, but it's pretty painful. She wrote you a note though. Didn't say hardly anything else. She's been worried about you." He chuckled weakly. "As usual."

Ricky shook his head. "Jesus, Mom." He glanced at his siblings. "Let's see it."

Andy smoothed the paper in his hands and held it up.

 _love you, mom_

* * *

 _ **A/N- Funny story about the president question: it's so divisive right now we're sticking to "what is the date?" I've had medics ask the president though, and heard "Oh, I don't say his name," "Lord Voldemort," and "I wish it was still Obama."**_

 _ **I made a point earlier about how CT4 would have aired on 12/26 according to the original airing schedule, but I'm just going to roll with the new schedule, that it happened on 12/19. Just FYI.**_

 _ **I honestly can't remember if they ever said what Ricky does. Was he a software engineer? I scripted him as a medical person yeeeears ago before he even had a name, haha, so I'm running with biomedical engineer here.**_


	4. River

_**A/N- I just got in to the house in the mountains where I'll be for the next week or so late last night. It was a long day of driving, so I'm writing everything now. I haven't heard the WWSRD podcast either, though I'd like to eventually. It sounds intriguing. I wouldn't say this story is so much. . . fighting canon and what was written as it is. . . prolonging a goodbye and satisfying my own curiosity. Coincidentally, we've been working on case studies of dilated and hypertrophic cardiomyopathy in class, and. . . well, you can see where it's gotten me haha. I'm correcting typos and errors as I re-read, but if you notice anything, feel free to let me know. This is obviously un-betaed. Love, love, Foxy**_

* * *

 _He tried hard to help me / You know, he put me at ease / And he loved me so naughty / Made me weak in the knees_

 _Sarah McLachlan_

* * *

Everyone went home that night in better spirits. There was still a very real chance of relapse, as the respiratory therapist had warned. If Sharon's breathing took a downturn, they'd be back where they had started and it would be much harder for her to make a comeback.

On that note, Torres had recommended everyone get a full night's sleep before the next day. Sharon had tolerated sitting well, so he planned to have her try walking in the morning. Andy had been surprised, but the younger man explained himself.

* * *

"It's important for your wife to get up and moving as soon as she's able."

Andy spun his ring around his finger, thinking. "She said she's still in a lot of pain, though. Do you really think she can walk like that?"

Torres nodded. "Yep. I think she's ready. We'll be all around her the whole time- you can be there, too. She needs to start moving. It will reduce her risks of complications and clots. Right now she's doing really well, all things considered. She hasn't shown signs of bleeding or infection. She's not going to like standing up, I can tell you that, but-"

"She's smart enough to know that it's got to happen." Flynn nodded. "Yeah, okay." He fiddled with his rings again. "When can her kids come see her?"

The man's mouth twisted as he thought. "They can see her tomorrow, during visitation hours, like you do, but just one at a time." He raised a hand before Andy could speak. "I know what you're going to say, but the ICU is for critical patients, and the flow of friends and family in and out needs to be minimal. The staff needs space to work and the patients need peace." Over the course of his career, he'd found that families often forgot that anyone existed in the universe but their loved one. Rather frequently, the staff would round the ICU after visiting hours had ended, gently- or not-so-gently- reminding husbands, wives, parents, and children, that no, they needed to go home.

"Yeah, okay."

Torres let out the breath he'd been holding. He wasn't scared, per say, of Sharon Flynn's badge-wielding extended family, but some invisible thing changed when the patient was military or a first responder. Cops, firefighters, EMTs, soldiers. It didn't matter in the operating room who the patient was, but it mattered in the waiting room.

The Commander's squad was making friends with the hospital staff. It was only the third day since she'd been admitted, but there was always a detective standing watch, regardless of whether or not the husband or kids were there. The bald Asian man kept to himself, as did the older one and his wife, but the two women would chat with the staff. The two younger men swung between stoicism and quiet conversation, depending on the mood. Everyone's spirits had lifted the second day when Sharon had written her note to the kids.

The detectives wouldn't be allowed to see her until she moved to a step-down unit, since her husband rarely left her side, but it was clearly pointless to tell them so.

* * *

Rusty slipped into his bedroom as the other three worked on dinner. Gus hadn't called, but he had sent messages, a few each day, asking if there was anything he could do, how Sharon was, how Rusty was. He had been with Rusty in the waiting room when Dr. Torres had given his initial report, but then he'd backed away again, partly due to his work schedule, and partly to give Rusty his much desired space.

 _hope your mom is doing better. let me know? i work tonite but am off tomorrow so i'd be happy to come sit with u or just bring dinner._

Rusty ran a hand through his hair. Before he could change his mind, he pressed hard on the message and tapped the little green phone that popped up next to Gus' name.

It rang a few times, and Rusty almost hung up, but Gus suddenly picked up, sounding slightly out of breath. The soft noise of a restaurant filtered through the speaker, too.

"Hey, Rusty."

"Hey. Uh, I guess you're at work, sorry. I'll-"

"No, no, it's okay. I'm not super busy. How are you? How is your mom?"

Rusty smiled despite himself. "She's doing better."

"Oh, good. That's really good. Is she awake yet?"

"Yeah. This morning. It's moving really quickly all of a sudden." Rusty paused. He hadn't spoken more than a dozen words to Gus over the past week, and here they were, brought together by Sharon once again.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, uh," he'd sidetracked himself. "Yeah. They want her to try walking around tomorrow, I guess."

"Seriously?"

"I guess it's the normal thing to do, yeah. According to Andy, she got an extra day of bed rest even. They normally do it two days after surgery. She wasn't exactly routine, though, I guess. They just let Andy in this morning, and he said she had a really rough day."

Gus huffed a half-laugh. "Can't imagine why."

Rusty looked down at his knees and tried not to smile. "Yeah, me neither." He was quiet for a long minute. "We might get to see her tomorrow. Andy wanted to help her with the walking, and I think he didn't want us to have to watch it, and then he said they said we could see her, one at a time."

"Cool. That's good."

Someone called Gus' name, and the easy moment ended.

"I'll let you go-"

"Yeah, okay. Call me tomorrow? And, uh, if you're not with your mom at lunch, could I meet up with you?"

Rusty froze for a second. "Um, yeah," he said slowly. "That'd be fine."

"Okay. Tell your mom she's amazing when you see her. Bye, Rusty."

"Bye."

* * *

Emily opened the door between the bathroom and her mother's room. Andy had said the doctor said her mother could start _officially_ getting visitors in the morning, and Emily was trying not to get too excited about it. Well, she was already too excited. She was trying not to be obnoxiously overexcited.

The rules dictated that they couldn't bring much into the ICU, and Christmas decorations would have to wait until her mom was in a normal room, but Emily wanted to bring Sharon something to do. Andy had also said Sharon was still under heavy medication and probably wouldn't be up for hardly anything, but Emily knew her mother. Opiates or not, she'd be bored out of her mind.

For that reason, Emily had packed the iPad and its charger, complete with the extension cord. She had spent almost an hour loading it with photos from both her and her brothers and some Snapchat videos she'd saved to her phone. The video selection had been very thoughtful. There were several drunken adventures on the camera roll, mixed with more innocent, giggly videos. She had also texted her manager from the ballet in New York and asked for the video of the Nutcracker dress rehearsal. Emily had a few nice roles in the show, but her mother hadn't been able to come earlier in the dance season, and now Emily's understudy was dancing the parts.

She stood in the bedroom, surveying it. Andy had barely touched anything, the room too painful to remain in for long. Her mother's clothes were neatly put away and there were few signs of inhabitation. Apparently, the squad had been busy, more than busy, when her mother collapsed.

 _What would Mom want?_

She went back into the hall and grabbed the ugly little plaid suitcase out of the hall closet, then returned to the room, tossing the luggage on the bed and unzipping it.

 _Hmm._

She pulled the dresser drawers open, rummaging through both men's and women's garments. She grabbed socks; a pair of soft, pink pajamas; and quickly threw a small pile of underwear into the suitcase. The drawer below held running gear, so Emily picked out t-shirts and jersey shorts. She thought about a sports bra, but then discarded the idea. There was no way in hell her mom would be able to get her arms through the elastic.

"Emily."

She jumped slightly and turned. Andy stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He looked tired, but not as lost as the day before.

"Andrew."

He wrinkled his nose involuntarily at the use of his full name. "Packing a bag for your mom?"

"Yeah." She looked back at it. "I just have PJs and loungewear stuff. I don't really know what else to bring, and I'm afraid that if brought normal clothes she'd try to get up and leave." The attempt at humor fell flat, and she sighed.

Andy just nodded, then went to riffle through the closet. "I never did unpack her bag from last time. She'd have killed me if she knew, but I just stuffed it behind our dress blues so she wouldn't know. Didn't have the time to take care of it." He emerged with a duffle bag and dropped it next to Emily's.

Her heart twisted a little at the sight. It must have been worse than her mom let on, if they had already packed and used an overnight hospital bag. When Emily had still been in New York, her mother had always said something along the lines of _it's a little worse than they thought, but I'm okay. I saw another specialist today, and I feel so much better already._

"When were you at the hospital? I thought you just went once, when this all started."

Andy looked pained. "Monday."

Emily gripped the foot of the bed. "Pardon?"

"We were there Monday. I guess it was Sunday, technically. She collapsed at a scene again, and the ambulance there took her to Cedars. She stayed overnight. It was the night after they put in her defibrillator."

"The night _after_? She mentioned that she got one. . . Called it a 'quick, twenty-minute procedure.' I thought it was a little while ago. She made it sound like it was last week or something."

"That's your mom, Em. You know how she is."

"Jesus. Even I wouldn't be that dumb to go to work like that. Fuck."

If Andy was surprised by her expletive, he didn't show it. He stepped further into the room, though, frowning. "You aren't dumb, Emily. Far from it. And neither is your mother. She-" he sighed. "She may not put herself first as often as she should, but she isn't dumb. She knew the risks, that she was playing with fire."

Emily pursed her lips, trying not to let her eyes water. "She's not playing with fire, Andy." She sounded anguished. "She is _on fire._ "

Andy was silent for a long moment before he spoke. "'He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.'" The verse came to mind out of the blue. He wasn't as observant a Catholic as Sharon, but some of his schooling had stuck with him.

Emily's mouth twisted again. "Luke." She looked away and refolded the clothes she'd tossed into the suitcase earlier. "That's her favorite of the gospels. The Church emphasizes Matthew, but she always loved Luke."

"Luke the physician."

"Mm. His gospel is more organized than the others I guess. I never really noticed, but that's what Mom said."

"It would make sense." Andy moved closer and started unpacking the duffel bag. "Physicians have all their rules, and rules are Sharon's thing. Just a little."

Emily snorted, smiling despite the moment. "Yeah. A little. I think Father Stan once said that Luke 'pushed people to put faith into action.' I just remember that Luke was all about Elizabeth and Mary, and I think Mom liked that the women were the leaders, rather than the men, like usual." She glanced up. "No offense."

"None taken." He lifted his heavy blue robe out of the bag and held it out to Emily. "She likes this thing."

Emily took it and pressed it to her face. It smelled like her mother, but not. It smelled like antiseptic and vanilla and some kind of spicy scent that she assumed to be Andy. She shook out the robe and spread it over the bed. "Do you wear cologne?"

He looked surprised. "Yes. What-?"

"Go get it." She tilted her chin toward the bathroom. "Please." He stared at her for a minute until her gaze flickered to the robe. Suddenly, he understood. Sharon would likely appreciate the scent of home around her as much as he appreciated her perfume around him.

"You're a good kid, Emily. Don't forget that."

* * *

 _ **A/N- Okay, a day later, still haven't published it, and I may have had a few drinks while I was writing. So sorry about errors. Love you. Love reviews.**_


	5. Be Thou My Vision

_**A/N- I think I may have skipped a day in my timeline. It doesn't hugely matter to the story, so I'm not too concerned. I know this seems like it's dragging through all this hospital stuff, but I'm trying to be vaguely semi-realistic. I promise it'll pick up eventually haha! Thanks for sticking with me. Kudos if you find the nod to Provenza's eulogy.**_

* * *

 _Thou my best Thought, by day or by night / Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light_

 _Christian Traditional Hymn_

* * *

"Father Stan."

The priest could hardly remember being so relieved to see a parishioner. When he'd received the call from Andy Flynn not even a day after giving Sharon her Last Rites, he'd feared the worst. Over the years, he'd come to learn that people often had had a sixth sense about death. Sharon had seemed so vibrant and hale that afternoon, much like always, and her request came as a shock.

"Sharon." The relief in his voice was palpable.

She looked terrible, to be frank. Someone had swept her hair up in a messy bun, but damp strands still clung to her face, further emphasizing her pallor.

"Are you. . .?" She didn't look well, even considering that she was in the hospital ICU.

She smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "We tried walking again earlier, and it was a little harder than I anticipated."

He wasn't sure who "we" was, but he assumed it was her medical team. "Didn't you just-?" He wasn't often at such a loss for words.

"Have surgery? Yes. But it's apparently good for me to get up and moving as soon as possible." She grimaced. "Apparently." Simply the process of sitting up, putting her feet on the ground, and standing had been painstaking. She had a nurse supporting her on one side, Andy on the other, and a third person behind, dragging a heavily laden IV pole. She herself had been burdened with the LVAD equipment. There were two large batteries in a holder that was similar to the shoulder holster Julio sometimes wore. There was a belt with a fist-sized controller, as well. Everything was wired together, and ultimately culminated in what Dr. Torres called a driveline. The driveline ran from the controller, through a small incision just under her ribs, and connected to the LVAD itself, the mechanical cardiac pump. The driveline insertion site itself was covered by a sterile dressing, but Sharon could feel it pull as she walked, along with the long incision that neatly divided her chest. She had wanted to laugh upon hearing that the latter had been glued together, rather than sutured. Her heart was literally being held together by wires and superglue. Nevertheless, it had resulted in pain beyond any she had known, visceral and superficial, both.

Today was her second day of walking, if one could call it that. She had been shocked by how much effort her few, shambling steps required, and she hadn't counted upon that when she'd asked Andy to call Father Stan earlier that morning. Her husband had looked at her curiously for a moment, and then, in his typical fashion, cracked a joke.

 _"Maybe the hospital will give us a group discount. We seem to have at least five people here for you at any given time, and now we're bumping that number up again."_

 _"Five?"_

 _"Yeah, sweetheart. A lot of people love you."_

 _She counted on her fingers. "You and the kids are only four. Don't tell me-"_

 _"The squad." They said it at the same time._

 _She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Andy, they have jobs and families, too."_

 _"Yeah, and Chief Mason also gave us all the rest of the week off."_

 _She sighed, lightly, trying to avoid more pain. "Fine. I want to see all of them when I get out of here."_

 _"Shar-" He frowned slightly. She had been having some trouble remembering fine details over the last few days. Dr. Torres had told them it was fairly common, but there wasn't much to do about it._

 _"Not out of the hospital. Just the ICU. I know I'm probably going to be here for a while."_

 _He could see her spirits falling again as she contemplated the logistics of her medical care. She had already been worried about paying for the defibrillator and two ambulance rides. He didn't want her thinking about an indefinite stay in the transplant ward. She had benefits and they would continue to pay out for her. Whatever wasn't covered by insurance, well, they had savings and he still had a paycheck. They'd figure something out._

 _"Hey," he gripped her hand. "Don't think about that."_

"Sharon? You left me for a minute there."

She redirected her attention to her priest. "Oh, I'm sorry."

He smiled at her. "Don't be. May I come in?"

"Of course." She was halfway upright, and she flicked a hand towards the chair by her bed. "Thank you for coming to see me. I'm afraid I might not be very good conversation. I'm still on quite a bit of medication, and even just talking is tiring."

He nodded, not bothering to remind her that she was the one who had requested his presence. He had run into Andy Flynn in the hallway, and the man had warned him that that she would be tired and slightly confused.

"I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to see you. The congregation has been praying."

She nodded slowly. "Thank you."

He sat forward and took her hand, careful not to bump anything. "What can I do for you, Sharon?"

"I would like to pray with you, but first, I'd like some guidance."

"I will do my best. What is it you want to know?"

Her mouth twisted. "I have concerns about Rusty and the whole. . . Philip Stroh debacle."

The priest blinked in surprise. He had been expecting concerns about her health. "Go on."

"We have reason to believe he is back in Los Angeles, and I have no idea what our next move should be. We cannot let Stroh take the first strike, but, in return, we have no target to strike at. All we have is ghosts and non-accidental accidents."

Father Stan wasn't entirely sure what she meant. He sat quietly for a long minute, trying to puzzle it out. "You mean that you have evidence, but you cannot connect it to him?" He had picked up some tricks while the Church was under investigation just a few short months ago.

"Yes, essentially." She closed her eyes. "Ghosts upon ghosts upon ghosts."

He was silent for a moment. "And. . . Are you hoping that God can provide you with guidance in your investigation?"

"Yes. And how far to involve Rusty. He has been piecing together Stroh's history and honestly. . ." she slipped her hand out of Father Stan's to swipe at her cheek. "He's breaking this case wide open." Her voice cracked, and she looked up at the ceiling as they both ignored the tears rolling down her face.

They sat in silence for a several minutes while Sharon collected herself again.

"I'll keep your concerns in mind and pray over them, see if I come up with any insight. Would you like to pray with me now?"

"Yes," she whispered. "And if it's not too much of a trouble, I'd like to receive Last Rites again, before my move to the transplant ward."

The request wasn't a surprise, but the move was. "Transplant ward?"

"It seems the most likely outcome. We live close enough to the hospital that I may be allowed to return home in another week or two, but. . . It doesn't seem too probable."

"The congregation will keep you in our prayers. As to your Rites, of course. Anytime, Sharon. I will come."

"Thank you." She moved her right hand to lay next to her left and pressed her palms together. Stan clasped her hands in his, trying to ignore the dressings and tubing on each one, concentrating on sharing warmth and Spirit.

"Andrew also said you might want to pray one of the saints' prayers. Saint Michael?" Michael the Archangel, patron saint of policewomen.

"I was thinking perhaps Francis. He seems appropriate in this moment." She took a deep breath. "'All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle,' Father, and I have fire in my heart and my soul."

The priest felt goosebumps raise on his arms, and he crossed himself to begin the prayer. "Peace be with you."

"And with your Spirit."

* * *

Andy sat with his partner for close to an hour before he got up. Provenza had arrived at the hospital only ten minutes before, relieving Tao in time for dinner.

"Where are you going?"

"I just thought I'd go check on Sharon," Andy started. "Father Stan's been with her for-"

"Almost an hour, yeah I know. Flynn, did it occur to you that maybe they're still talking? From what I know of the Commander, she's pretty religious, and she hasn't had time for church lately."

Andy took his seat again. "Yeah, I guess. I'm just. . . I don't know. Anxious, maybe. Afraid." He propped his elbows on his knees and twisted his wedding ring around his finger.

Provenza watched for a minute. "Flynn."

"Huh?"

"How long have you been here?"

"Uh. . ." The man sat up to think. "All day, I guess."

"And you went home with the kids to sleep last night, but you were here all day the day before, too?"

"Yeah, yeah, 'cause that's when they had Sharon walk across her room and back."

"Flynn."

"What?"

"Get out of here." The expression on Provenza's face was understanding. "You're going to be here for weeks. It's like a long case; you have to know when to take breaks."

"Sharon's not-"

"She's not a case, I know, I know." He raised his hands in surrender. "But it's the same concept. Self-care, as Patrice likes to call it. Self-care."

Andy leaned back in his chair. "So, what do you propose I do, oh Wise One?" It sounded only slightly bitter.

"Get your ass to a meeting. Even if you don't think you need it, the ritual of it will help. Trust me." He could see his partner's resolve crumbling.

"You'll call me if anything changes?"

"Yeah."

"And if Father Stan gets done before I come back-"

"I'll go sit with her myself."

"And you'll call me-"

"Ye Gods, Flynn!" Provenza stood and flapped his arms. "Shoo. I know how to do this. Get going."

Andy nodded, the corners of his lips quirking upward. "Thanks, old man."

Provenza crossed his arms. "Leave before I change my mind."

* * *

"Sharon. Sharon."

"Mmm?" It was like swimming out of a deep, dark, warm ocean. Her eyes would flicker open, then closed again, like waves.

"Sharon, you gotta wake up for me."

She groaned quietly and made more of an effort to surface from the water. A face swam into view.

"There you are! I've got some good news."

She had fallen asleep again when Father Stan left, physically and emotionally exhausted. Provenza had been sitting with her when she woke once, briefly. She hadn't seen him at all during the days while she was truly awake, just at odd twilight hours. It was dark now, but he wasn't the source of the feminine voice.

"I'm going to turn the light on, okay?"

"Mmhmm." Sharon slowly pushed herself up and blinked in the brightness. "Whasgoing on?"

"You've got the go-ahead to move to the step-down unit."

"What?" Suddenly, she was wide awake.

The charge nurse smiled back. "Yep! Dr. Spooner in the cardiac unit and Dr. Torres agree that you're good to go. We know you've been anxious to get out of here, so we thought we'd let you know as soon as we got the green light."

"Are we going to move now?" Her own voice still sounded raspy.

"Yes, if you feel you're up to it. We have a transport team available, so it's a good time."

"Okay." Sharon pointed and flexed her feet under the blankets, a thought forming. "Can I walk?" She hadn't done more than a dozen paces in the hall, and her normally athletic self was itching for something more, even if her body wasn't.

"Nope." The nurse didn't seem at all dismayed to deny her request. "You've got two choices-"

"I'll take a wheelchair." There was no way she would miss a chance to get out of bed, and she knew the second choice was to remain in the gurney and be taken to her new room that way.

"Alright. I'll go let your friend know what we're planning and we'll get things going."

Alone, Sharon had a chance to look around the room. Her glasses were on the table, farther away than she wanted to reach, so everything was slightly blurry. A figure stepped into the room, and she squinted at it.

"Lieutenant?"

"Commander. It's good to see you awake." He came closer and into focus.

"I can have visitors right now?"

"Ah, well, no, but ah-"

She tipped her hand up. "I don't want to know." Sleep was trying to overtake her again, but she wanted to be out of the ICU room as soon as possible, so she fought it, hiding a yawn. "What-?"

"I told Andy to get to a meeting."

Her expression must have changed, because the lieutenant shook his head at her.

"He's doing alright. I just thought he should have a change of scenery."

"Mm. Thank you."

"The woman out there said you're moving rooms."

"Yes, to the step-down unit, thank God. I think-" she broke into a yawn and coughed. "I think I can see my kids all together there. I've been worried about them."

Provenza smiled. Typical. He looked around the room, only seeing a few scattered possessions. "Should I pack your things?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you." She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then forced them open. "I think I have a book, my phone and charger, and my rings. I didn't need anything else, and Andy didn't keep anything here. Oh, he has my rings. Nevermind that."

Provenza got her remaining belongings together, sliding the phone into his pocket and tucking the book under his arm. A commotion at the door caught his attention. "Your chariot awaits, Commander."

* * *

"Louie, what is it?"

"Calm down, it's nothing." Provenza lowered his voice, leaning against the wall outside Sharon's new room as he spoke into the phone.

"Noth-"

"Flynn. Don't get all fired up. They got a transport team lined up, so we moved rooms."

"Oh, good. Torres said they might do that tonight."

"Yeah. It's. . ." He turned to glance at the room number. "631 in the cardiac ward."

"631, got it. Oh, and, uh, thanks for sitting with her and everything. I owe you one."

"You're welcome. You owe me so many already one more won't change anything. Don't worry about it. As I said, it's my honor."

"Well, thanks. I'm on my way back, so it shouldn't be too long."

Provenza walked back to the window into Sharon's room and glanced in. It was dark, and she was asleep. Again. Between walking, her priest's visit, and the move, she was completely exhausted. "Flynn, tell you what. Go home, get some sleep, and tell the kids the good news. She's out cold."

There was a heavy sigh. "Okay. Okay, I will." He was slowly learning that the kids were important, too. Sharon would always be first in his heart, but she could no longer be his first and sole priority. Her kids were his kids now. Their kids. "Get some sleep."

"I'm still your superior. I'll do whatever I feel like."

Flynn chuckled. "I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

 _ **A note. I've finally listened to WWSRD, and I feel much more at peace with this, although that could also be because I've had a week to sort out my feelings about it. On one hand, she's a fictional character. On the other hand, she's also a role model, and I still remember when most of my high school wore black when Dumbledore died. MMcD also said something along the lines of "there have been enough bullets," and it kind of hit me that wow, yeah this is a lot of violence and just because it's**_ **dirtbags** _ **doesn't mean it isn't violence. Perhaps Sharon felt the same way, that there's been enough tragedy. So, I'm going to keep going with this. It's no longer a way to completely ignore canon, it's rather an exploration of another universe. I'm really enjoying the impromptu education on cardiology and Catholicism, and I hope you are, too. Let us boldly go.**_


	6. Please Don't Say You Love Me

**_A/N- Sorry that I'm a POS. I'll do my best to be better about updating. Thank you so, soooo much for all the reviews, follows, and faves. I love you, LFL_**

 _Just please don't say you love me / 'Cause I might not say it back  
_ _Doesn't mean my heart stops skipping / When you look at me like that_

 _Gabrielle Aplin_

* * *

"Mama!" Emily burst through the door and dropped her purse on a chair in a single fluid motion. At the last moment, she remembered to bury her face in the mattress next to her mother's shoulder, rather than Sharon herself.

"Hey, honey." Emily was in an awkward position,z so Sharon reached over with her left hand and patted her daughter's shoulder. "Hey." She looked up and caught sight of Ricky and Rusty lingering by the doorway. "Come on."

The boys both shuffled in, suddenly unsure. Ricky was the first to break the silence. He hadn't caught her while she was awake in the ICU, and his time was spent quietly holding her hand.

"Jesus, Mom, if you wanted us to come back out to see you so soon, all you have to do was say the weather out here was sixty-five and sunny."

She smiled tiredly, but admonished him nonetheless. "Language."

Ricky sat on the edge of the bed, rolling his eyes. "On the language note, I heard a great joke the other day. You know how cells all have two sets of DNA?"

His mother nodded slowly, unsure of his direction.

"Well, that's diploidy. Half a set of genes, and you're haploid. Jesus' mom was the Virgin Mary so the H stands for 'haploid.' Jesus Haploid Christ." He snorted at his own joke, and even Rusty laughed.

Sharon tried to maintain her poker face as she shook her head. "You're impossible." He was tenser than he tried to pass off. Ricky had taken after Jack in that respect. As the going got worse, so did the jokes.

"Try living with him right now," Rusty muttered. Ricky gently socked his brother's arm, and they scuffled for a moment before Andy broke it up.

"Okay, okay. Take it out to the parking lot."

Both boys were grinning, and Ricky ruffled Rusty's hair one last time. "Yeah, sure. That's just a way for you and Emily to have all the visiting time. We've only seen her when she's asleep, up until now."

Sharon smiled at them. "You will all have plenty of time. Rest assured, I will be kicking all of you out of here at some point or another."

"How are you feeling?" Emily settled herself on the foot of the bed, next to her mother's feet.

"Much better than even yesterday. Still sore," she amended. "Already ready to be out of here."

"How long do they-"

Sharon sighed and glanced at Andy, who cut in.

"At least another week."

"Oh, that's not so-"

"Probably longer," Sharon interrupted.

Andy reached down to squeeze her shoulder. "There's a good chance that your mom is going to be here until she gets a heart transplant.

Silence fell heavily over the room, and Rusty watched Sharon's mouth twist as she looked down.

"Mama?"

"Yeah, baby, there's a pretty good chance of that."

Emily unfolded her legs and crawled up the bed to carefully hug Sharon.

"No crying," Sharon said softly. "I'm still here. No crying. It's just. . . An extended, unplanned vacation."

Emily laughed. "Yeah, okay." She climbed down to the floor. "I suppose that on the plus side, you aren't going to get sunburned this time."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Will you ever let that go?"

Her daughter smiled sweetly. "No, because you're the reason we have to buy that dermatologist-approved, extra-special 70 SPF stuff. You burn like none other."

Andy was content to sit back and listen to the kids talk and bicker lightly as their mother watched, occasionally answering questions or commenting. After about an hour, she started drifting off, her head lolling to the side briefly before she'd jolt awake again. He watched her do it a few times, then quietly cued the others in.

"We should let her sleep, yeah?"

Much to Rusty's surprise, they had almost everything packed up before Sharon woke up again. Over the years, he'd come to learn that she had ears like a fox. It was only rarely that he could get up in the middle of the night without waking her, too.

"Mm.." She covered a yawn with both hands. "Leaving already?"

"You were out of it for almost an hour, Shar."

She glanced at her husband through half-lidded eyes, then looked out the window. "Oh, it's dark!"

"Yep. That's what happens at night, Mom." Ricky caught her smile and grinned back. "Andy's gonna walk us to the garage, and we'll see you in the morning?"

"I'll be here."

They said their goodbyes quickly, then left as a small herd, Andy promising to return shortly. Sharon had almost fallen asleep again when she heard rapid footsteps, and the door swung open again.

"That was fas- oh, Rusty. Did you forget something?" She hadn't noticed anything out of place, but she wasn't on top of her usual deductive game, either. Maybe it was because she was sixty-four, after all, but her body didn't bounce back like it used to. She was more than a week out from surgery, but the move into the louder, busier step-down unit had exhausted her. Talking was tiring. Even listening to her children talk to her wore her out.

Her youngest son stood in front of her, his satchel over one shoulder, like usual. He shuffled his feet briefly, and she hid a smile. It was a tell she had noticed years before, when he was nervous.

"Yeah, I thought I left my book, but I found it in my bag when I got back up here, but I just wanted to. . ." He shrugged and swooped in for another hug. It caught her by surprise, but he held her gently, his arms under hers and supporting her back. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too." She ran her fingers through her hair, combing the snarls out of the sandy strands. "You aren't getting rid of me yet, Mr. Beck."

He let her go, gently releasing her back to her pillow. "Yeah. I know."

Andy returned half an hour later, after seeing the kids off and calling Provenza. The old man had almost hung up on him when Andy had asked how work was going, but then apparently reconsidered.

"Is the Commander pressuring you into this?"

"No, and I'm not planning on telling her, either. I know I have to come back to work at some point, and I don't want to be totally lost."

Provenza sighed aggrievedly. "Swear you won't update Sharon."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Really? You really don't trust me on this?"

Provenza's voice dropped to a whisper. "I know exactly how conniving wives can be, Flynn. We're both married now, but I married a nice, wonderful woman, and you married Darth Raydor. Nothing against her, but we call her that for a reason. We called her the Devil for a reason, and I seem to remember a portrait of a witch on the murder board once. That woman is brilliant, Flynn, and she will stop at nothing-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, I swear I won't tell Sharon."

"Okay. So. Hooter's. Hatcher's. Or whatever the hell that restaurant was called. Tackles. That's all wrapped up in box with a bow. Not much new has happened. Robbery-Homicide took our on-call for us- those morons," Provenza added under his breath. "And ended up with the only case this week by doing that. Uhm. . . What else. . . Well, we have a whole mountain of paperwork, and the incident report for, well, paramedics in the building and all that, but I can take care of that." He skated neatly over the subject of Sharon's collapse. "I'll file that and get it to Tay- uh, Mason." He sighed. "We're getting too goddamn old for this, Flynn."

Andy pushed his hand back through his hair. "You're telling me."

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Anyways, uh, Emma told me she's got information about Stroh, and she'll meet me in the morning."

"Stroh?" Andy was careful to keep his voice down.

"Mm. She says she's got concrete evidence he's in LA. If you and the Captain don't mind, either, I want Rusty to come in and tell us what he's collected."

"That kid could've been a damn fine detective," Andy said. "Don't tell Sharon that. She doesn't want any of the kids in the profession, but Rusty's board is. . . Well, it's more information than even the Chief had, I think, at her peak."

"Chief Johnson?"

"No." Flynn rolled his eyes. "Chief Pope. Yes, Chief Johnson. Remember back, oh, I dunno, maybe ten years ago? The first time we let Stroh go?"

Provenza grunted. "Don't remind me."

"Yeah, when she had his photo on the wall and everything. You know, we oughtta get her and Rusty in. I know the kid catches up with her every once in a while, so I don't think this would hit either one from out of left field."

"That's a good idea. I'll call Howard and see if he'll ask her."

"Good. Yeah, Rusty. . . Rusty has a lot of information and a lot of good theories."

"I'll call him in the morning."

"Okay."

"Flynn?"

"Yeah?"

"Get some sleep. And tell the Commander we all say hello."

"Will do." He pulled the phone away from his ear and tapped the red button on the screen.

"Andy?"

"Hey, babe." He turned back to his wife.

She pushed herself up into more of a sitting position. "I thought you were going home?"

"I just saw the kids out, talked to Provenza for a little while."

"What did he have to say?" She shifted more onto her side to watch him.

He raised his eyebrows. "He also made me swear I wouldn't tell you."

She swung her head back as she rolled her eyes, the effect being that her eyes seemed to physically move her. "Ugh." He could have sworn she also grumbled _men_ under her breath, much like Provenza.

"He said wives are diabolical, but then said he married an angel. I think Patrice was in the room."

"Mm. And what did he say about me?"

He couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. Her face was solemn. He examined her expression, but she didn't crack.

"He said you were Darth Raydor."

"Mm." She looked him over. "And I suppose that's all he said. The entire conversation." Now she was joking, giving him an easy out.

"The whole conversation," he agreed. "Your Darthness."

She reached out, IV tubing swinging, and swatted his arm. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

The words seem to hang in the dim quiet of the room. They didn't echo, but they filled the silence nonetheless.

"Lay with me." Sharon slowly scooted over on her bed, winding wires and tubing around her hands and pushing it out of the way.

For once, Andy didn't argue the logistics or sensibility of it. He sat, toed his Oxfords off, and threw his denim jacket over the chair before carefully edging up next to his wife.

She rearranged herself around him and laid her head against his chest, one arm tucked between her breasts and the other resting over Andy.

"I'm so tired," she whispered.

She didn't mean it in the physical sense. "I know."

"I'm so tired, but I can't, I can't give in to this."

He reached over to stroke her long bangs back behind her ear, repeating the motion as she talked.

"But I can't take a chance to live from someone else. I don't want to stop here, but I can't go on, either. I've had a good life with wonderful children and done work to be proud of, and now-" her voice cracked. "Now I have husband I never dared dream of, and I am so loved." She fell silent, breathing evenly and running her fingers back and forth over Andy's shirt.

"Sharon?"

"Hmm?"

"Hear me out, okay, and then you can tell me what you think."

"Alright."

He looked down at his wife, the woman he had never seen coming. Six years ago, he would have given anything for her to be gone, and now he would give anything for her to stay. "What would you say to seeing a counselor?"

She blinked up at him, eyes reflecting the light coming in from the hall. "The departmental psychologist?"

"Nah, a counselor, like someone here, or wherever is comfortable."

"Why?" She didn't sound offended that he'd asked, merely curious.

"You're so cut up about this, and I don't have the answers."

She tucked her head back against him. "We don't need to have all the answers."

"I know, but we don't need to be going in blind, either."

Her fingers stilled for a moment. "You're thinking maybe a psychologist could help me figure out whether or not to get a heart transplant." She said it so blandly as to be almost cool.

He frowned. "No, not exactly. I think that's ultimately your decision. Ah-" he cut her off. "Hear me out. It's your decision. Your body, your choice. We can give you our thoughts, our feelings, and tell you what we think. We can't tell you what you think, though, and maybe some kind of therapist can. Maybe they can help you figure out your feelings about it. I mean, Shar, don't get mad, but it seems to me like you're really conflicted about this."

She was silent for a long minute, and he couldn't judge her expression in the dark. "I am," she finally said slowly. "I am." There was another long pause. "That might be a good idea, actually. I hadn't really thought about it, in this context. I guess I associate it more with emotional trauma, work, things like that."

"What is this if not emotional trauma?"

She resumed kneading his shirt. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I want to. I think, I think you're right. I hadn't thought of it like that." She smiled as he gently poked her side. "Thank you."

"I love you, too."


	7. Monster Hospital

_**A/N- Well, this isn't making a huge step forward, but we're reestablishing the Stroh arc. I think it's been more than a decade in the making, and I want it over. *eyeroll* I don't hugely care for it and it's not the main storyline in this fic, so rest assured haha. Comments are love (:**_

* * *

 _I fought the war but the war won't stop for the love of god. /_ _I fought the war but the war won._

 _Metric_

* * *

Andy woke up early in the morning for the first round of vitals checks. He'd slowly been reacquainted with the fact that even the best night's sleep in a hospital was poor when someone was coming in every hour or two.

"I'm sorry, but you can't stay there," Someone said, gesturing away from the bed like he was a bad dog. The nurse didn't sound angry, and Andy thought that she'd likely seen how they'd organized Sharon's devices so they wouldn't get tangled or pulled.

"Yeah, thanks. I meant to get home to the kids, sorry." He honestly hadn't meant to fall asleep.

Sharon was still out for the count, snoring faintly. Andy discovered over the last year or so that she snored on occasion. Not loudly, but it still made him laugh. He rubbed her hand and tucked the blanket back over her, and slipped out the door with the nurse.

He looked at the woman. "I'll shoot her a text. Figure she needs the sleep more than me telling her that I'm headed home."

"It's important that you get sleep, too, sir."

He nodded. "Thanks."

She smiled at him before turning to continue her rounds. The woman in 631 was new, but she'd already had more visitors than half of the rest of the floor combined. Apparently, the woman and her husband were both cops and most of the visitors were cops and lawyers and more cops. One of the sons had been at the nurses' station earlier, chatting easily while waiting on his brother.

She turned again. "Sir?"

He looked up from his phone. "Yeah?"

"You're both with the police, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah."

"Well, thank you for your service."

The husband nodded, not smiling, just serious. "You're welcome. Thank you for your work, too. It's at least as important as ours." He sighed and rolled his shoulders. "I'll let you get going." With that, he turned and quietly walked down the hall, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he went.

* * *

"Hey, Sharon. Is everything okay?" Andy was distracted as he answered the phone not too much later in the day. The coroner's crew was still in the back yard with Emma, but he was in the house with most of the rest of the squad, awkwardly looking over Emma Rios' private life.

"Is Andrea there?"

"What?"

"Is. Andrea. With. You." His wife sounded unusually short.

"Uhh." He stalled, turning in a circle and scanning the area. "Uhh, I don't see her." She had probably left with Amy already.

"Andy, the news is on, and I saw Andrea come around the corner of a house crying. _Crying._ I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen her cry, and none of them have been at crime scenes. She's not picking up her phone when I call. Where are you, dammit?"

 _Oh, fuck._ The thought slipped past his filter. _Who the fuck let her watch the news?_ The doctors had stressed that she not get involved in work, and the local news was exactly that. _Damn KTLA._ "Uh, is Rusty with you?" She hadn't sworn at him in. . . Well, it had to have been years. Then again, he remembered, his wife and Hobbs were old friends. He couldn't recall exactly what Sharon had told him, but her friendship with Andrea dated back to before Andy knew either one of them.

"Yes. . ." her voice had risen a half-step. "Why? Is he in danger? I sent him to the cafeteria with Ricky and Em."

"No, but Sharon. . ." Andy didn't hear Provenza come up behind him, but the shorter man yanked the phone away.

"Commander," he said brusquely. "It was my understanding that you are on medical leave."

Andy could hear only the tone of the low, grumbling reply.

"And therefore I am the Incident Commander. You are not entitled to be read into this investigation. No. No. I believe you wrote the rules. I will read you in as I see fit. I am handling the paperwork just fine. No. Turn off the damn news, Sharon. Rusty is fine. I'll come by with Flynn tonight, okay? Hobbs? Uh," Provenza sighed. "I sent her out with Sykes, so maybe try Sykes' phone. Yeah, I think she's going to City Hall, but, uh, she'd probably like to go sit with you for a while. Here's Flynn." Provenza shoved the cell back to his partner and stepped out to the yard.

"Hey."

"Hey." Sharon sounded calmer, tired again. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, I shouldn't snap at you. I'm just. . . It's not even been a week, and I'm so tired of being here. I want to go home, Andy, and I'm taking it out on you."

"It's okay, babe. I can take it."

"Thank you. I'll try to rein it in. But Andy, where are you? What's wrong?"

He sighed. "I'll come by tonight, okay? And I'm sure Andrea will come sooner."

"Don't leave me in the dark like this. Andy. . ."

The pleading note pulled at his heart. He looked out the back door, where the coroner's people had finally covered Emma and were taking her away. He hadn't particularly liked the woman, hell, he thought he hated her at times, but she was one of the good guys. She was driven, good at her job, she had done her best for Rusty, and, despite their arguments, she had stood by the boy. Maybe he hadn't seen it, but clearly she was a good friend, too, if Andrea's reaction was anything to go by. She was someone's daughter, maybe a sister or an aunt.

"We're at, uh, we're at Emma's house," he finally admitted.

"Emma. . .?" There was a long silence, and Andy waited for her to figure it out. He knew he had another notification waiting and the first was hard enough. "Emma. Emma, oh my God. Andy-" she broke off, and he knew what she was probably seeing on the news. "Oh my God, Emma's dead? Andy, Andrea. Oh, Andy they're friends-"

"I know."

"Oh my God," it was breathy and soft this time."

"Deep breath, Sharon." He was getting her wound up, exactly what he'd been telling everyone else not to do. "Calm down."

"Don't patronize me." It was sharp, and they were both silent for a moment. He could hear Sharon finally breath in. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I think one of the medications is making me a little short-tempered."

He nodded, then remembered she couldn't see. "Yeah, I seem to recall seeing that on a list of side-effects for one of 'em."

She sighed heavily, and the noise crackled over the phone. "Go do work, honey. That's all we can do for her now. I'll call Amy, try Andrea again, see if I can get them to come over." She paused momentarily. "I think I'll try and convince Emmy and Ricky to go home. They both will have to go back to work soon, and it seems like LA might be the worst place for them now."

"That sounds smart."

"Okay." Another sigh. "I love you."

"Love you, too, babe, even when you're channeling your inner Provenza."

There was a giggle, and then they both hung up.

Andy turned to survey the scene again. "Jesus."

* * *

Ricky could hear someone crying in his mother's room when he and his siblings arrived back from the cafeteria. It didn't sound like his mother, though. When he was younger and his dad was still in and out, he'd learned the sounds of someone crying and trying to be quiet about it.

"It's not Mom," Emily said, one hand on the door.

"No."

They both looked to Rusty, who shrugged. "I don't know. I can tell it's not Sharon, but that's it." He nodded to Emily's hand. "You should go look."

"What? Why me?" By the time she'd turned to face them, both brothers had a finger to their nose. "Oh, come on."

"Emily Catherine," came their mother's voice through the door. "Richard William, Russell Thomas, I can hear all three of you."

All three groaned.

"We just got middle-named. Now we're in for it." Emily whispered, careful not to be overheard again.

"Come on in, you're fine."

Emily rolled her eyes, but pushed the door open nonetheless.

Andrea was sitting on the bed next to Sharon, the policewoman's arm around her friend. She was making a valiant effort to look composed, but whipped a handkerchief out a moment later to dab under her eyes.

"Lieutenant Provenza probably won't want this back, will he?" Andrea asked, flashing Rusty a watery smile.

The boy didn't return it. "What's wrong?"

Andrea glanced at Sharon, and both women frowned. Sharon raised a hand to finger the cardiac leads that hung over the neck of her gown. Rusty was sure his siblings knew her tell as well as he did, that they all knew she was uncomfortable.

"You might want to sit down," Sharon started. As they did so, she began explaining. "Andy was going to talk to you tonight, but I don't want you to wait for him all afternoon. He, the team, they got called out this morning to Atwater."

"Atwater Village? Isn't that kind of far for your team to respond?" Ricky asked.

"Yeah," Rusty replied slowly. "It's past Los Feliz. That's outside normal jurisdiction. Mom. . ." He looked to Andrea, and both women could see him quickly piecing things together. "Andrea, did someone. . . Emma?"

Sharon nodded, and tightened her grip on Andrea's shoulder, fingers creasing the blonde's blazer. "I'm sorry, honey. Emma's gone."

Ricky and Emily were both silent, watching. Ricky could vaguely recall his mother complaining once or twice about _that Emma woman_ , but that had been years ago. He supposed they may have transitioned into friendship, after all, _that woman from Georgia_ had eventually become _oh, you remember Brenda Leigh_.

Rusty seemed stunned. "What happened?"

Sharon looked to Andrea, whose eyes had brightened with tears again. "I don't know, Rusty. Lieutenant Provenza has been keeping me away from the investigation."

Andrea cleared her throat. "She, uh," she couldn't say the words. No one had told her, but she had seen the scene, and she wasn't stupid, the converse, really: she'd seen far too many deaths, far too much mano-a-mano violence. "We're certain Philip Stroh is back in LA, Rusty."

The boy froze, but she knew he understood as his eyes widened. "Oh my God." He looked down for a moment. "I'm sorry, Andrea. I know you're friends. That. . . Wow. . . I don't even know. That sucks so hard. Shit," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

Andrea reached her hand out to the boy. He gripped it tightly, and they were both surprised to find her hand was the smaller one. She couldn't recall holding hands with him before, there was no reason for it: they were closer than handshake acquaintances. To Rusty, she seemed larger than life, dominating whatever courtroom or interrogation she stood in. In the hospital, her hands were warm and damp, her cuticles less than perfect.

"I guess we weren't really friends, not like you guys, but I respect- respected- her. She," Rusty paused. "I was a jerk. And she was doing her job and I was too immature to get that, like, even last year, but I understand now. People have different ways of showing they care." A sidling glance to Sharon. "And she cared, and I wish she knew that I. . . Maybe wasn't really her friend, but I like- liked- her."

Andrea had choked up again, but Sharon squeezed her hand and spoke for her. "She knew, Rusty."

"I dunno. I was kind of an asshole-"

"Language." Sharon snorted at herself as the warning slipped out. "She knew. Trust me."

"I do."


	8. The Saltwater Room

_**A/N- I am a fan of Brenda and Fritz's relationship. Don't get me wrong, I love a good Sharenda story, but I loooove. . . Do they even have a ship name? Brenditz? Britz? Whatever. Thank you for the reviews and follows, y'all. Continuing on. . .**_

* * *

 _Time together isn't never quite enough /_ _When you and I are alone /_ _I've never felt so at home_

 _-Owl City_

* * *

Brenda swung her back over her shoulder and adjusted the belt of her pink coat. She and Fritz had finally managed to come and visit Sharon. For Fritz, it was a question of finding time, and for Brenda, it was more about biting the bullet and being social. Her husband was parking the car and had sent her on ahead.

The profile of the man down the hallway was familiar, despite their separation over the years.

"Lieutenant Provenza!" Her voice sounded artificially cheery, and she mentally made a note to tone it down. That was something her psychologist had worked on with her. _Read into your friends, not just your enemies._

"Chief!" He turned to look at her. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Well," she shrugged. "I wasn't really sure if the Captain would appreciate my presence or not, so I thought I'd say hi just before she headed home."

He looked incredulous. "Don't the two of you have lunch regularly?"

"Ye-es."

"I thought the two of you were friends."

"Yes, I think I would say so."

He cast her a look, the one that she remembered him giving their more oblivious suspects. "Then I'm sure she'd be glad to see you."

"Oh, well, alrigh' then." She looked up the hall, but it was empty, not even hospital staff were in sight. "How, how's she doin'?"

Provenza shrugged. "She keeps saying she feels 'much better.'" He raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure if I believe that, but. . ."

"How's Lieutenant Flynn doin'?" She had kept track of him, through Raydor- Flynn? No, there was already one Flynn. Sharon- through Sharon, but she hadn't seen him in, well, it had to have been a couple years since their last joint Major Crimes-DA's office Christmas party.

Provenza sighed heavily. "Well, you know the old jackass. Stubborn as a mule and about as hard-headed. He says he's fine, too, but it's wearing on him." Emily and Ricky had finally gone home late the previous week at their mother's behest. Despite the freed-up space at the Flynns' condo, Gus and Rusty seemed to be wearing on the lieutenant's nerves.

"Rusty?"

"He graduated college a couple weeks ago, did you hear that?"

"No, Sharon and I haven' met up for a little while now. She's been busy."

"And you haven't?" The eyebrows raised again.

"Well," she readjusted her bag. "I've been learnin' to delineate between my work life and my personal life."

He chuckled. "Your shrink teach you that one, Chief?"

She smiled. "Yes, as a matter of fact."

He nodded seriously. "Good for you." He looked up at her. "I mean it."

"Thank yew." A noise down the hall silenced them both. Brenda could differentiate two low voices. They seemed to be arguing about something. There was a pause, and Brenda supposed someone else was talking, before the other two voices resumed, and someone cleanly won an argument. "Won't be long now, I expect."

* * *

"You're sure she's okay to go home?" Andy squeezed his wife's hand tightly. She was seated on her bed next to him, in leggings and a raggy LAPD sweatshirt. Her hair was loosely pulled up and she wasn't wearing make-up, but looked better than she had in weeks, in his opinion.

Dr. Torres slipped his hands into his pockets. "Based on her labs and latest tests, yes. It's okay. I'd still rather you stay here," he turned to address Sharon. "But I can also empathize with going home. It's possible that just resting at home can do better for you than resting in the transplant ward. Less stressful, familiar surroundings. . ."

Sharon wrapped her other hand around Andy's, sandwiching his. Her hands were still cool, but they were dry, and he took it as a good sign.

"See?" She said in a low tone. "Andy. The paperwork is all done, too."

He looked at her, then back at the doctor. "And there's no way to know how long it'll be until she can get a new heart?"

"No, sir, I'm sorry. Not definitively."

"But we need to stay within an hour of the hospital?"

"Yes, at all times."

"Okay. And the condo is just within that boundary."

"Mhmm." She squeezed Andy's hand again. "And we've got all my medications, and we both know which one I take when, you know how to change the dressing on the driveline, and Andy, I'd feel so much better at home. And- and!" She grinned at him. "If I stay home, then we can collapse my security detail and Rusty's _and_ Gus'."

Andy sighed. "Sharon-"

Her eyes narrowed. "Do we have a deal?"

He drew back slightly. "What am I getting out of this deal? It seems like everything benefits you, Commander."

Torres watched with barely concealed amusement. He had watched similar scenes play out over the last month and a half that Sharon Flynn had been his patient. It seemed that every deal she made had her husband on the losing end, not that he seemed to mind. On the contrary, Torres was fairly certain Andrew knew exactly how each scenario with his wife would play out.

"I will be at _home,_ under the eyes of your watchdog."

"My watchdog?"

"Andy, darling, do you seriously expect me to believe Rusty won't be reporting my every more back to you?"

"Well, I haven't asked him to or anything."

She smiled. "Not yet."

He rolled his eyes. "I have a complaint."

"When have you not?" she asked lightly. "What are your conditions?"

"Either Rusty or I make dinner."

"Or Gus."

"Or Gus."

"How are the two of them getting along, anyways?"

"Don't change the subject. You aren't allowed to try and sneak information from Amy."

"What about the others? Do you seriously think any of them won't tell me anything?"

Her husband frowned. "Yes."

Another eye roll. "You've forgotten my reputation already."

"Wicked witch," he muttered. "Fine. No making dinner, no sneaking case work from anyone, no helping Rusty with _his_ murder board."

"Fine."

He eyed her cautiously. "Fine. Shake on it."

"So," Torres began as they shook hands. "We will call you if a heart comes up. You will drop whatever- _whatever-_ you're doing and come in. Take your medications. No baths or swimming. No vigorous exercise, though taking a walk around the block isn't a bad thing, so long as you listen to your body and quit when you're tired. No stairs, no more than a couple, at any rate."

"No stairs, Shaz, got it?"

She shot him another dark look. "Yes."

"No," Torres fumbled for words. "Your work, Sharon, don't go to work, don't bring work home, don't get involved with whatever it is your son is doing."

She pursed her lips. "Ah. . ."

 _The security detail. Damn._ Torres didn't know the full reasoning for the uniformed police who had bookended the cardiac hall, and he didn't want to. "Keep it to a minimum. No chasing murderers. No shooting murderers. Stay away from murderers in general. As well as you can," he amended. She was the only patient he'd ever had where he'd even had to consider making that a condition of release.

"Okay."

"You have your follow-up next week. We'll re-evaluate then. Until then-"

"Come in immediately if I feel unwell, if the driveline site looks infected, if I experience any cardiac abnormalities, et cetera. Call you directly if I have any questions." She leveled her gaze at her physician.

"You read the paperwork." He was surprised. Most people read it, but not to the level of quoting it back to him.

"Hoo boy," Flynn glanced at his wife and laughed as she smiled. "She's the queen of fine detail, here."

"Good. Good. Okay, well, you get a complimentary ride to the door, Sharon, and I wish you guys the best of luck until I see you next week." He pushed off the counter he'd been leaning on and reached out to shake her hand.

Sharon beamed at him and shook his hand firmly, as did her husband. A wheelchair had been parked in the corner, and Andy led her to it. She sat in it gingerly and rearranged the holster holding the LVAD batteries and the wiring. "Okay. Thank you, Doctor."

He smiled faintly, looking down. "This is what I live for."

* * *

 _Who would have ever thought it? Raydor and Flynn._ Brenda watched the slow procession. First out of the room, there was a young man in a white coat. He couldn't have been much older than Charlie, she thought. Then a wheelchair rounded the corner, with Flynn pushing it. She hadn't seen her lieutenant in years, and he looked different. Not in a bad way, she realized. His hair was closer to white than grey now, but he looked happier than she remembered. He was laughing about something with Sharon. His wife, Brenda realized with a start. She and Fritz had both been at the wedding, but it still seemed like a dream, hard to wrap her head around after so many years of watching the two of them argue hotly.

The Captain looked pale and exhausted, which was to be expected after a couple weeks in a hospital. She also had on the most bizarre outfit Brenda had seen her in: loungewear under a navy-blue men's robe. Then again, Brenda wasn't in a place to judge someone else's clothing, and she knew it. The getup looked cozy, either way.

"Brenda!" Sharon smiled. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"Well, Captain, you missed our lunch date, so I thought I'd come by and make it up."

Sharon tilted her head back to watch Andy's face. "Did he put you up to this?"

Brenda wasn't stung. She wasn't very good at social commitments. "As a matter of fact, I brought it up, and Lieutenant Provenza and I coordinated a little bit to line this up."

"Oh! Well, thank you."

"Chief?" Provenza asked curiously.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Ranks were still the first thing off her lips, before names, even now.

"Captain?" he asked.

Brenda glanced between the other three, and Provenza was the only one who seemed to know what was going on.

"Commander?" he asked again.

"Yes?"

Brenda frowned as Sharon answered, and suddenly the pieces clicked together.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Sharon, you didn't tell me you got a promotion!"

Andy watched his wife blush. "Oh, well, I. . . It wasn't impor-"

Brenda shoved her bag at Provenza and bent down to Sharon's level. "Cap- auh, Commander, Sharon. I can remember a conversation we had several years ago about promotions. You told me it would make me a role-model for little girls _and_ you. Well, now the tables have turned, I'd say. You're the role model for all us young ladies now, and that is very important."

"Are you calling me _old,_ Brenda?"

"Of course not. My mama raised me better." She straightened and reclaimed her bag.

"Well, in that case, thank you."

"You're very welcome."

"Chief, would you and Chief Howard want to join us for dinner, and we can properly catch up?"

"Are you sure that's okay?" They both looked up to Andy, who shrugged.

"Yeah, Chief, that's fine."

"If-" Provenza interjected. "If your cooking skills have gotten better. I remember the last time you cooked something in the break room."

"Oh, Lieutenant," Sharon cut him off. "You don't have to worry about dinner. Gus and Rusty are home, and I am not even allowed to cook for my own family right now, so it's their job now." She somehow managed to sound both pleased with herself and mournful. "It's a condition of our deal. Andy gets to ensure that I lounge around the house all day, and I. . . Well, I get to see my son and potentially save the city _thousands_ by collapsing security details." She turned her head over her shoulder to look at Andy, and Brenda had a flashback to Sharon talking about how _FID saves the city seventy million dollars in lawsuits. Annually._

"You've been waiting all day to say that, haven't you?" Provenza crossed his arms.

"Yes, I have." She crossed her arms smugly, but the smile slipped slightly as she had to maneuver around her equipment. "Shall we?"

They met Fritz at the elevator.

"Hey, honey." He looked a little surprised.

"Fritzi, would you wanna do dinner with Sharon and the lieutenants? They invited us over if you want." She was better at the whole idea of marriage being a two-way street than she was a few years ago.

"Oh, sure, if you're sure you won't be too tired." He leaned past Brenda to address Sharon, then glanced to his wife again. "We've figured out just how exhausting these trips can be." He felt Brenda's small hand on his arm, and she squeezed for a second before letting go.

* * *

Brenda had been to the Commander's home before, of course. You weren't friends with someone for six years yet not see where they lived. So, she directed Fritz through Los Feliz to Sharon's building's visitor's parking, up to the lobby past the door with the pin code, and finally they ascended to the eleventh floor.

"You don' think this is too much for her?"

Fritz shrugged. "Maybe, but Lieutenant Flynn said she's bored out of her mind, and he thinks she'll be happier tired than bored at the moment."

"I thought she wasn't supposed to get overworked."

Fritz smiled at her. Over the years, his wife had been getting better about caring more about other people. She had always cared about her friends and family, but now she was more willing to show it. Willie Rae's death all those years ago now had flipped some kind of switch in Brenda. Fritz still missed the old lady, but the ache had subsided into something more like gratefulness for the time they'd had. "She'll be alright. Flynn texted and said they dosed her up with pain medication before they left, so there's a good chance she'll fall asleep."

"Oh, alrigh' then." Brenda knocked quietly at the door, and was nearly pulled off her feet as Rusty yanked the door open and lunged forward to hug Brenda tightly. "Well, hello to you, too, Rusty!"

"Hey. Hi," he added to Fritz.

"Hey, Rusty." As they made their way into the foyer, Fritz could see a couple uniformed officers sitting in a set of tasteful red chairs. There was a younger man and an older one, the younger one sprawled over his chair, though Fritz could tell they were ready for action, tense as a spring. He waved them down as they started to stand.

Rusty caught the motion and glanced backward. "Sorry, this is Sergeant Colton and Lieutenant Lantis. I thought they could get dinner with us, 'cause they had to follow me all over town today. Uhm," he struggled for the proper titles for the Johnson-Howards. "Kenny, Jake, this is Brenda and Chief Howard."

"Fritz is fine for today," the man said. He knew peripherally of Lantis, and was fairly certain the officer knew of Brenda, even if he didn't show it.

"Fritz," Rusty amended.

Lantis raised his eyebrows. "He says he has us here for dinner, Chief, but he really just wants to whoop us at chess. Don't trust him."

Brenda laughed. She knew Sharon and Andy had arrived already, and assumed they were just taking a few minutes to themselves. "Rusty, why don'cha show us to the kitchen and we'll get started. I'm sure you're hungry by now."

The kid grinned and left for the kitchen. Brenda hung her pink coat on the rack next to the collection of men's coats and two very fashionable trenches that she knew to be Sharon's. She kicked her shoes off and Fritz did the same, slipping his keys into her purse as she dumped it on the side table.

They went through an awkward round of introductions in the kitchen with Gus, the young man that Sharon was rapidly losing her patience with. He had come up in their lunchtime conversations occasionally and Sharon had seemed exasperated with the ongoing romantic saga the last time she'd mentioned him. Brenda glued on her best smile and threw open the refrigerator.

"So, as I'm sure Fritzi will attest to, I'm useless in the kitchen, so I'm gonna be depending on y'all." She surveyed the contents of the fridge. There were several casserole dishes, a large bowl of salad, and several packages Brenda would never dared touch, at least not before Fritz had his heart trouble. Even then. . .

Rusty leaned in next to her. "Turkey bacon, broccoli, apples, sugar-free coffee creamer, goat-milk yogurt. . ."

Brenda recoiled. "Goat-milk _what?_ "

"Yeah." Rusty rolled his eyes. "She's impossible." He said it warmly, though, and a little uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure his mother was still there.

"Well, why don't we get one of these casseroles goin'?" If there was one thing Georgia had taught her to do well, it was casseroles. Nine by thirteen pyrex pans for potlucks, parties, when someone was sick, when there were new neighbors. Casseroles, casseroles, casseroles. When Brenda glanced back, Fritz and Gus were gone, and she could hear them in the living room with the other two officers.

"Yeah, sure. I think the top one is tamale pie or something."

"Did Detective Sanchez make it?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna tell me about him?"

"Ye-no-what?" Rusty seemed to finally focus. "Gus?" he asked quietly.

"Mm."

"It's complicated, Brenda."

"That's life, Rusty, but you don't hafta keep it all knotted up inside."

He looked at her as he dialed the oven up. "Who told you that?"

"My mama did, many times, and it took me a lifetime to learn it. Don't make the same mistake I did." She smiled sadly at him, and leaned back against the counter, ready to listen.

* * *

Sharon sat on the bed gratefully and eased herself backward to lean against the headboard. It amazed her how much weaker she was after two weeks in the hospital. Simply walking from the car to the condo had her frustrated and lagging behind Rusty. Andy had carefully kept pace, one arm around her waist, the other hand in hers.

She closed her eyes. She did want to see Brenda, had missed the blonde and her bizarre level-headedness. Where Sharon was cool and collected at work, Brenda ran hot and wild. When it came to personal lives, though, Sharon had discovered she and the Chief were opposites again. She was messy and emotional where Brenda seemed to take the majority of things in stride.

Somehow, it worked. When they weren't pitted against each other, Sharon had found they were good friends. She relished the female friendship, so rare in her career. She, Brenda, and Andrea Hobbs got together as often as work and life allowed, and the time was a treasured, giggly rarity.

"Still doing okay, babe?"

She opened her eyes to see Andy in front of the closet, changing into fresh jeans and tucking his shirt in. Light blue was a good color on him, she decided. The shirt was one of her favorites, well-worn and soft when she nestled her cheek against his chest.

"Yeah, just tired."

He came and sat next to her, moving her feet to his lap and rubbing her arches gently. "Are you sure you want to come hang out with everyone?"

She nodded. "I want to see them, I'm just so tired." She could hear the whiny note in her voice, and moaned quietly. She was physically tired, yes, but emotionally exhausted and tired of being tired.

"Hey." He slowly pulled her upright, and she swung her legs off the beg so he could slide to her side and let her fall against him. "It's gonna be okay."

"Okay." She could feel tears pricking her eyes, and she yanked her glasses off to carefully run her fingers under each eye. She wasn't wearing liner or mascara, but it was a force of habit. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"It's okay."

She made a noise in her throat and turned her face into his side. "I'm so tired." The words came out in a whimpering huff of air.

"I know." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head slowly. She smelled like antiseptics and industrial laundry detergent, not her usual self. They sat together in silence as he stroked her side gently, careful not to tangle his hand in her wiring. Since her surgery, she had gradually gotten more and more paranoid about pulling on the wires. As far as Andy understood, the whole LVAD device was engineered to take a fair amount of daily wear and tear. At the same time, it was unbelievably delicate. He and Sharon had spent several agonizing hours with her medical team, learning how to charge and change the batteries on the LVAD, removing them one at a time to be replaced with fresh batteries, as to not stop the mechanism from pumping. Torres had emphasized that taking both batteries out at once could be a fatal mistake. With that warning, he had then proceeded to give them a case to keep the two spare batteries in whenever they went out about town. As soon as the doctor had left, Sharon had burst into tears, and the sight had nearly broken Andy. She was the strength in their relationship, the rock, and there wasn't much he could do to comfort her besides hold her as she cried it out.

"What do you say to some clothes from home, huh?" He said softly.

She slowly pulled away and sat up. "That would be nice."

He walked over to the double-tall dresser, comfortable now with the way his wife organized her clothes. He glanced back at her, thinking. Nothing that- by her standards- would require a bra to be worn in public. Her chest and ribs were far too painful for that level of finagling. At the same time, he suspected she was tired of sweatshirts and pajamas bottoms. An idea hit him, and he ducked into the closet.

"Andy?"

He reemerged with a dark green sweater, thick knit and wool. It was his, far larger and heavier than any sweater Sharon possessed for herself. Her eyes lit up when she saw it and he felt inwardly pleased with his choice.

She had already pulled off the battery holster and laid it on the bed next to her. He sat across from her again, and she lifted her arms enough to allow him to carefully pull her sweatshirt up, then over her head and off her arms.

She looked down and gave a half-hearted snort. "And I thought having kids wreaked havoc on my body." Her chest was usually pale and freckly, but it was splotched with yellowing bruises and new scarring. There were bright pink cuts under her ribs where the chest tubes had been, partially hidden by the snowy dressing over the driveline. Sharon's fingers went straight for the heavy bisection of her person, though. The cut ran most of the length of her sternum, and was the same shade of pink as the other marks. There weren't any stitches, though, the surgeon had opted for glue, instead. Later, Torres had said that surgical glue didn't scar quite as much as suture, but there was nothing for Andy to compare to Sharon's battered body, so he'd just nodded in response.

He reached out and caught her hands. She looked up, and the corners of her mouth quirked up for a moment.

"I know, I know. Leave it be," she said.

"Yeah. Them's the rules."

They sat in silence until Andy noticed goosebumps rising on his wife's skin. He reached behind himself for the sweater and stuck his hands backwards through the sleeves, compressing them so it would be easier for Sharon to get her arms through. She had gotten one arm in when she paused.

"Andy?"

"Hm?"

"Is this- does this bother you?"

He frowned, not understanding. "Does what bother me?"

"The-" she pulled her hand free from him and gestured to her chest. "This."

His eyebrows crinkled, and he caught her gaze. He had realized what she was trying to communicate, but decided to be deliberately dense. "Does it bother me that you're sick? Yeah. I don't like seeing you down like this."

"No, the. . . " she waved her hands again. She talked with her hands, he'd learned over the years. She knew it, too, and he suspected that was why she'd stuffed her hands into her pockets so often when she first took over Major Crimes. She knew herself well and didn't want to show her tell to people who were barely more than rude strangers.

"The lack of clothing?" He tried for humor. "Doesn't bother me at all. If we didn't have half the LAPD and the kid in the living room, I'd be perfectly happy if you wanted to go au natural."

She rolled her eyes. "Andy."

"Sharon." He caught her hands again and waited until she looked at him. The opposite wall was apparently- and rather suddenly- interesting. "Hey. I don't care what kind of scars you do or don't have. It doesn't matter to me."

"They're going to have to reopen the big one if I ever get a transplant-"

"When."

 _"When_ I get a transplant and. . . I just. . . I don't think even these ones are going to look much better than they do now. I just scar easily already, and this. . ." She sighed.

"Does it matter this much to you what it looks like?" he asked. "It doesn't matter to me, Sharon. Scars don't change who you are. Most of them would be under your clothes, anyway. Just a little of the big one would be visible, and honestly, Sharon, uh-" he tried to find a way to word his theory without breaking his serious tone.

"What?"

"Honestly, honey, you're a detective," he mumbled as he leaned forward to kiss her. His hands settled gently settled under her arms, pressuring her just enough to support her. He could almost feel her thinking.

"Oh!"

He let his thumbs brush the sides of her breasts as he pulled back. She had blushed hotly, and was trying to suppress a wide smile.

"Got it?"

"Andrew Flynn. I cannot believe you."

"If you really are worried about it, when you're feeling a little better you can try on your favorite work clothes and I can check you out, tell you how good everything looks. On you or off you, either way," he added as an afterthought.

She laughed and gently flapped the sleeve of the sweater in his face. "Help me with this or the only person invited to my fashion show will be Andrea. She actually has good taste."

"You wound me," he told her as he pulled the sweater over her head. "Witch."

"Well, that's better than being a monkey," she replied, words muffled by the wool.

He grunted. "Yeah, sure."

It took another ten minutes to get her LVAD equipment back on and adjusted, find a pair of shorts she liked, and swap them out for the sweats. He opted to just carry her back out to the living room. Rusty would have the sofa set up, he knew, so it was faster and saved her energy for Brenda. Andy knew his wife was tired when he carried her past the Chief and the two officers without any complaints from her. He had expected to get perhaps two-thirds of the way down the hall before she protested, but she hadn't said anything. He settled her on the sofa with the afghan and retreated to the kitchen for her medications and the requested mug of tea.

"How's it coming in here?" Brenda and Rusty were both leaning against the counter, talking quietly.

"Good," Rusty replied. "We're just heating up the tamale stuff Detective Sanchez brought over earlier."

Andy nodded and turned his attention to Brenda. "How's it going, Chief?"

"Pretty well, all thin's considered. I like your new place," she said with a smile.

Andy laughed. "Thanks. I worked hard on the décor."

Rusty snorted into his glass. "I'm leaving before you totally embarrass yourself." He rolled his eyes as he smirked and slipped into the other room.

Brenda looked at Andy again. "Really, Lieutenant, are you doin' alright?"

"Yeah, it's okay, Chief. I'm getting to meetings every once in a while, and I'm taking some sick leave from work." He frowned, thinking. "I don't have a ton left, but. . . We'll figure something out."

"You oughtta see if anyone can donate some leave to you and Sharon. Last I knew, they were still doin' that."

He blinked. The idea hadn't occurred to him. "Thanks."

"Andrea offered to give me some of hers when Fritzi was sick. I had enough stored up I didn't need it, but. . ." she shrugged. She'd talk to Lieutenant Provenza about it later. He'd be the most senior officer in her old division, now, so he'd be able to coordinate something. "Do you need help with anything?" She nodded to the empty mug he held.

"Oh, nah. I was going to make Sharon some tea. She's gotta take her meds soon."

Sharon still had a stove-top kettle, and it sloshed when Brenda shook it, so she set it down again and turned the stove on.

"Hey, Chief, there's actually one thing you could do."

She turned. "Oh? What's that?"

Andy waved his arm at the breakfast bar. "Please take some of these flowers with you when you head out."

She laughed. "You don't want 'em?"

He reached into the drawer beside his hip for a toothpick. "Chief, didn't you look around? I'm surprised."

She hadn't really nosed around too much, rather just talked to Rusty. She took a moment to walk past Flynn and peer into the dining area that she had just passed by earlier. "Ahh."

"Yeah." There were dozens of vases and baskets of flowers crowded together. The kids had spread them though the condo, prioritizing the window ledges for the potted plants and leaving cut flowers everywhere else. There were all sorts of flowers and balloons, though Sharon had been most tickled by Provenza's contribution: a potted lavender orchid and a _happy fifth birthday!_ balloon. "We appreciate the thought, but might as well let some more people enjoy them, too, huh?"

"She really came into her own, didn't she?" Brenda knew the flowers had to have come from beyond even Major Crimes and FID. There weren't enough officers in the two divisions to be solely responsible. Sharon had friends in many places, clearly.

"Yeah. It's funny. I think if you'd told Provenza five years ago that he would be getting married again to a perp's grandmother whom he'd fallen for, he would have just said you were nuts, but if you'd told him he'd be coming to Sharon's place- our place- for dogs and ball games, he'd have lost his mind."

They both laughed as the kettle began to whistle. Brenda watched as Andy efficiently made tea. He was clearly comfortable in the kitchen and knew where everything was. She checked the timer on the oven, then followed her old lieutenant into the living room.

Her husband was sitting between Rusty and the other young man, and the two officers were on the short sides of the table. Sharon was curled in the corner of the sofa, half-asleep and watching as Rusty's detail faced off over a game of Battleship, the other three keeping a running commentary.

Andy sat next to his wife, waking her up a little more and handing off pills and the tea as she needed them. Brenda dropped down on the other end of the sofa. There would be time to talk with Sharon later, she wasn't concerned. She caught Fritz's eye, and he smiled, looking less tense than usual.

It was a strange family, she thought, but a family nevertheless, the members chosen and linked together by both joy and uncomfortable trauma. And love. She couldn't forget that part. There was love to go around, again and again.


	9. The Scientist

_**A/N- Soooo, NSAIDs and ibuprofen post cardiac surgery: NSAIDs were generally NOT recommended after cardiac surgery. Seems like the general consensus now is that it's okay in the short-term, but taking something like prilosec to help your stomach get ahead of the game might not be a bad idea. IDK. I'm also threading the Stroh storyline through this- SORRY, I HEARD YOUR COMPLAINTS, HOLD ON- but it's not going to be the primary plot or anything. I'm just rather unhappy with how the show ended that story (among others, lol) and I want to fix it. Sharon raised Rusty better than that.**_

 _ **I was also looking up LAPD organization, and IA and FID are both subdivisions of Professional Standards. Both are run by a commander, and PSB is run by a Deputy Chief. Sharon was shortchanged, I do believe. On the other hand, Major Crimes is technically a part of Counter-Terrorism and Special Ops. It, and its sister divisions, are all run by Captains. The nearest commander runs Major Crimes and Emergency Services. Interesting. . .**_

 _ **All the computer stuff is garbage. I have no idea how the fuck they actually solved the case, either. Whatever. That basically just means I'm playing fast and loose with the timeline here.**_

 _ **Let's go have fun in this sandbox.**_

* * *

 _I was just guessing / At numbers and figures / Pulling the puzzles apart_

 _Questions of science / Science and progress / Do not speak as loud as my heart_

 _-Coldplay_

* * *

It was Sharon, or rather the lack of her, that woke Andy. His wife had blocks of ice for feet, and she usually slept with her icicles tucked between his calves, or behind his knees if he let her. When they first started sleeping together, they had both found themselves at the bottom of a sharp learning curve. Sharon had spent the past twenty years sprawled across her bed, and suddenly, she was no longer allowed all of the space, pillows, and blankets, and the readjustment took time for both of them to figure out. She didn't like him breathing on her face at night, he was too tall to let her be the big spoon, and neither one of them liked sleeping back to back. They ended up sleeping in a tangle of limbs, legs overlapping one another. He liked sleeping with his arm over her, and she liked the extra warmth he provided, especially when he stole the blankets.

He slowly stretched, coming awake in the pre-dawn darkness. The sheets next to him were still warm, and his hand bumped into his wife as straightened his arms.

"Wha' time is it?" he mumbled.

"I haven't looked." She sounded much more awake than he felt.

He ran his hand down her arm, and suddenly realized she was damp with clammy sweat. He pushed himself up on one elbow and fumbled for his glasses as he checked his alarm clock. Five forty-five. He rolled over and found the focus didn't do much except sharpen the dark outline of Sharon in the moonlight. Even still, he could see that she was flat on her back, tense as a coiled spring.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing really."

"Sharon. . ."

There was a long silence before she spoke. "I think I rolled over in my sleep, and I could feel it."

He lay there quietly, trying to figure out what she meant. _Felt what?_ "Are you in pain?"

She huffed a tired laugh. "I didn't feel like getting up and doing anything about it."

"Oh, babe, you should've woken me up."

"You're going back to work today. You need a good night's sleep."

"You're more important than that. I'll be right back." He slipped out from under the covers, wrinkling his nose at the cool night air. Her medications were all lined up in the kitchen, and he turned on the light to read the labels, momentarily blinding himself in the process. He shook two small pills into his palm, half-filled a glass with water and returned to the bedroom. He set everything down on Sharon's nightstand and then sat next to her to help her sit up. The first time she had woken overnight, her first night home, she had tried to sit up and get everything sorted out by herself. After that, she'd either woken him or soldiered through the remainder of the night on her own, dipping in and out of sleep. Despite her stoicism, he could tell she was still in some pain, especially at night, though it was generally better during the day. He was rapidly discovering she concealed it well, but her body language still gave her away.

He held out his offerings, and she sighed.

"Do you think I could try ibuprofen instead?" They both knew she wasn't truly asking permission so much as using Andy as a sounding board. They both knew ibuprofen would likely do very little in comparison to her prescribed oxycodone.

"Do you think it would help enough?"

She sighed. "I don't like those." She flicked a finger towards his hand. "They don't do anything except make me so tired I don't care. And they make me cry."

He smiled at her. "I've noticed." There was no point in denying it; the least he could do for her was to be honest. It just wasted energy to dance around the point. She was right, too, as usual. For the past two days, her morning dose of narcotics had been followed by tearful wallowing in bed as Andy and Rusty went about their morning routines. By the time they had breakfast going, she had managed to get over the hump, and would join them for a cup of tea. She would pick at whatever a they'd cooked, but didn't seem too interested in actually eating it.

"The prescription is only for a week's worth of oxy," she said. "It's the third day, and Dr. Torres said it's fine if I don't use the whole script's worth."

"He also said it was fine to use it for the whole week."

"I'd like to try not using it today, just. . . See how it goes."

Andy let his hands rest on his knees. It wasn't his decision to make, no matter his level of agreement. The most he could do was present her with a cohesive argument, and he was struggling to come up with any counters to her points. Hell, she was smart, brilliant, even, but he was struggling to trust her completely with her self-care. She so rarely put herself first. He finally sighed. It still wasn't his choice, and that was what the whole mess boiled down to.

"The doc said it was important that you take the meds before your pain gets out of control."

"Yes." Her eyebrow arched, and she sipped from the glass of water he'd brought.

"So, promise me you'll take the oxy if the ibuprofen doesn't help, okay?" There was no way to hold her to it, now that he was going back to work, but he trusted her. Trust, he knew, was the foundation of relation. She trusted him not to drink, to do his job well, to care for her family when she couldn't. He trusted her in the same way: to take care of herself and her duties at his Commander, to guide their team along better paths than they could have provided for themselves.

"Yes." She sighed heavily. "I will." She pressed his fingers back over the little white tablets. "I can't believe you're going back today."

"Say the word, and I'll stay here."

She smiled at him, teeth flashing in the low light. "No, I already have two nursemaids and a security detail. You'd be redundant, honey."

He laughed quietly as he got up to get the ibuprofen from the bathroom cabinet. "The kid's just doing his best, Sharon. He's a legal intern, not a medical one."

"Oh, thank God for that." Her words carried from the dark bedroom. "I don't think I could handle two Rickys."

He flipped the bathroom light off and rejoined her on the bed. "Two Rickys?" he queried.

"Emily went into a profession I understood and loved. Ballet was like a second language for me, at one point. Pun not intended," she added. "Ricky. . . Well, computers in general are. . . I wouldn't say completely past me, but they're certainly not something I'm fluent in. All I know of cybersecurity is the little bits Mike tells us, and, to be honest, most of it sounds like gibberish. And yet, that is what Ricky loves and excels at." She shared a smile with her husband. "So, Rusty going into medicine would be a whole 'nother foreign concept. Legalese, on the other hand," she held out her hand for Andy to shake the red tabs into. "Legalese is my mother tongue."

Andy groaned. "Don't I know it." He set the pill bottle on the nightstand with the two tabs she'd protested earlier, then carefully climbed over his wife to get to his side of the bed.

"Lazy bones," she drawled.

"Anything for another minute in bed with you." He switched off the alarm on his clock. No point in leaving it on since he was already up. He leaned over again and kissed her slowly and luxuriously. She sighed against his mouth.

"Oh, I may just have you call in sick today, after all," she mumbled.

"Abuse of power, Commander. I'll have to inform IA."

"Mmm, go ahead." She combed her fingers back through his hair. "I still have a few friends there. I'm sure I could take care of a single complaint quite easily."

"Complaint? I don't have a complaint."

She giggled, and he was secretly pleased. There had been so few occasions to laugh recently, and he treasured each one. There had been so many close calls and near misses over the last couple months that he was learning to take nothing for granted. He wanted to believe that they'd have time ahead for laughter and love, but their treacherous hearts were giving them a run for the money.

After a minute, they broke apart, and Andy tucked Sharon's hair back behind her ear.

"I'll go get breakfast started. What do you feel like?"

"Mmm." She kept one arm wrapped around herself as she eased out of bed. "Would you be offended if I told you just toast and tea would suffice?"

"Not at all." He picked up her glass, swiped her heavier robe from the bed, and followed her to the kitchen. She kept a slow pace, but he eventually got her settled on one of the high chairs with the robe over her shoulders. "What were you saying woke you up? he asked as he filled the tea kettle. "I don't think you ever finished."

"Hmm." She was quiet as he finished fixing her tea and a cup of instant coffee for himself. When he'd moved in, she'd been appalled to find that he drank instant, but gave up the argument after he pointed out that it was still better than the average breakroom sludge. She cradled the mug in both hands as he set about slicing bread and pulling out other breakfast ingredients.

"I think," she paused and shifted in her chair. "I think I had a bad dream. I don't know. It felt so real." She trailed off.

"Wanna go on?" he prompted her.

"There's nothing to tell, really. It's fading away the longer I'm awake. I just remember. . . I thought I felt it move. The LVAD or the wiring, I don't know, and that woke me up." She shivered. "Eugh. What are you planning on doing at work today?"

The abrupt change in subject confused him for a moment. "Uh, the usual, I suppose. Making deals with dirtbags. Getting them off the streets."

She rolled her eyes. "Andy."

He turned back to the stovetop and his cooking. It was perhaps worth providing Sharon with the bare bones of the investigation to keep her from worrying about it later. "We're still working on Stroh. Provenza told me some of it yesterday."

"We've been working that case for close to a decade now, off and on."

"Was it really that long ago?" He bent down to look for cookie cutters in the lower row of cabinets. Sharon had a box of them somewhere.

"Mm. I was reading through Brenda's old reports a while back, and the first ones are dated 2007."

"God." He found what he wanted and laid out four pieces of bread, pressing the fox-shaped cutter into each one. "I can't believe it's been that long." He tossed the center bread pieces into the frying pan and turned to face Sharon with his coffee. "I guess it was. That was the year Chief Howard proposed," He stared out the window, trying to remember. "And we had the PCH killer, oh yeah," he grinned at Sharon. "The Chief fell into a dumpster that year, too."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, yeah," Andy turned briefly to flip the toast around. "I don't remember what we were working, but there was a body in a dumpster or somethin' and the Chief was sitting on the edge, and she fell in."

Sharon chuckled. "As much as I like her, I'd still pay good money to see that."

"Hey, Mom." Rusty still sounded half-asleep.

"Hi, Mrs. Flynn. Lieutenant."

She turned and found Rusty and Gus making their way to the coffee pot. Somewhere, during one of his falling-outs with Rusty, Gus had slipped back to formalities. Sharon had insisted it wasn't necessary, but also didn't mind being called Flynn. Gus had been nothing but polite and helpful the last few weeks, and she was struggling with her feelings about him. He was a very nice young man, and he and Rusty seemed to be on an upswing, but she was tiring of their near-constant roller-coaster love affair. _Young love,_ Andy had reminded her one night in the hospital. _It does what it wants._

"Good morning." She smiled at both of them and ruffled Rusty's hair as he passed.

"Hey, kid."

"Andy."

"Gus."

 _Men,_ Sharon thought. _Men and their one-word conversations._ She stifled an eyeroll. "What's the plan for today?"

Rusty slouched against the counter with his mug. "I gave Lieutenant Provenza all my stuff the other day, and they're kind of taking over from there. I mean, I can keep looking for links, but-" he shrugged and glanced at Andy. "You guys actually get paid to do this stuff, and I still have work for Andrea."

Andy pulled plates down from the shelf and began dishing out breakfast. "You're going to the DA's office then?"

"Uhh. . . I think she's still out on bereavement. She'll be back Wednesday. Tomorrow. But yeah, I should probably go in." He accepted the plates from Andy and passed one to Gus.

"Gus?"

"Same old, Lieutenant. Just working." He and Rusty shared a look and slipped out to the dining room.

It took a minor balancing act to coordinate his plate, Sharon's, and his coffee, but Andy made it over to the breakfast bar and sat next to his wife.

"Egg in a frame!" She looked down in surprise. "I didn't realize what you were doing."

"And you call yourself a detective." He used cookie cutters to take the center out of the bread, and he'd found that out of his wife's incredible collection of the things, the fox-shaped one provided the best egg-to-toast ratio.

She slowly nibbled at the animal cutout, eating the extremities first. "It's going to be so quiet today."

"The kid'll be home by lunch, I'm sure. There can't be that much to do without Andrea. And your detail will be outside." They had managed to collapse their various security details overnight, but generally had to re-up the numbers during the day with both boys working. Sharon had tried to protest her own, until Provenza had sat down with her and told her he would go over her head and request it from the brass if she didn't agree to it.

 _"Sharon, look, it's just two officers-"_

 _"Andy, I know you're worried, but this building is much more secure than it was even a few years ago. Management worked on the security after the last time. I'll be fine."_

 _"You just left the hospital today, and I'm going back-"_

 _"And most of the last week in the cardiac wing was just for recuperation." She laid a hand on his knee, eyes wide. "It's been two weeks. I'll be fine."_

 _"Commander." Provenza's gravelly tone interrupted them. He and Patrice had come over for dinner and kept work out of the conversation until now. "Take the detail."_

 _She turned her cooling gaze on him. "I don't-"_

 _"-see the need for it, yeah, I know. Think about it this way, it'll put our minds at ease, knowing you're safe."_

" _I know my way around my service weapon just as well as every other officer does, and I daresay I'm a better shot than most of them." She still held marksmanship records on the force._

 _"That's not the point, Sharon. It shouldn't come to that, but regardless, you're sick. You're not at your best right now. You need to rest and get your strength back-" he held up a hand to cut her off. "And you can't do that if you're perpetually on edge, trying to watch your guard." He softened. "I'll go to the Chief about this, if I have to. It'll have to go on record."_

 _She let her head drop back against the sofa, and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. "I'm so tired of this."_

 _"I know, babe." Andy pulled her close, sitting in the space Provenza vacated. "I know."_

"It'll just be strange," she said. "Not being surrounded by people all day. Maybe I could come visit you over lunch?" Her face brightened at the thought.

"If you eat breakfast and can walk the length of the hall outside without getting winded, sure." He pushed her plate closer, and she made a huff of annoyance. The pain medications kept her appetite down and made her sleepy, neither effect helping her regain the physical strength she'd lost over the last couple weeks. It amazed Andy how much difference the time had made. Just a few months before, she would regularly rise early to run a few miles before work, and now just walking the length of the building and back left her sweaty and breathing hard. Nevertheless, she said she felt better than she had been her last days at work. Torres had told them to expect that, that simply increasing her heart function with the surgery would immediately make her feel better.

"I'll work on it, boss," she replied lightly. She made deliberate eye contact and took a large bite of egg. "See?"

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Thank you."

"Thank you, too." She reached over and straightened his tie. "Have fun at work today."

"Oh, loads of fun. Provenza's temporary promotion is going to his head." Andy's smile belied his words.

"Take care of yourself, okay? No rash decisions or unnecessary risks, not with Stroh so close." She pulled on his tie gently.

"We will. We're being careful. No one walks alone."

"Good." She stood with him and tightened the sash of her robe. "I guess you'd better be going, hmm?"

"Yeah."

They walked to the door, past the dishes the boys had left on the table, and the blanket-nest Sharon had on the sofa. Andy shrugged into his jacket, and checked that he had his wallet, keys, badge, and gun. Sharon picked up his phone from the shelf under the spiny mirror and pressed it into his hand.

"Have a good day." She rose on her toes and kissed him. "Love you."

"Love you, too, babe."

* * *

Andy leaned back against the elevator wall, grateful he was the only one in it. He was a little later to work than usual, and perhaps that was why he was alone. The elevator had risen to the third floor before he realized there was a poster with his wife's photo printed upon it tacked to the message board. He straightened, frowning, and leaned forward to look at it.

Whoever had made the poster had chosen a formal headshot of Sharon. It wasn't her uniformed LAPD one, but one of her in her cream dress and a blazer, beaming widely at the camera. He could tell it was a few years old, but not where it had been taken. Andy turned his attention to the words below.

 _Benefit Spaghetti Dinner, Thurs. Jan 18, 5-8 PM, ninth floor breakroom_

 _The Counter-Terrorism/SOB division is holding a benefit dinner for Cmdr. Sharon Raydor, Major Crimes. Cmdr. Raydor has served with the LAPD for over 30 years, and is currently on indeterminate medical leave due to unexpected illness._

 _She and her husband Lt. II Andrew Flynn are in need of both sick days and medical leave, so any donation of unused leave time is much appreciated. Paperwork will be available at this time._

Andy took a quick picture on his phone to show Sharon later. She hadn't mentioned anything, so he doubted she knew anything about it. He stared at the flyer a moment longer. Lieutenant, second class, was his formal rank, and since he didn't use the full title, few people remembered it. The wording on the poster was also dry, brief, and very familiar.

When the elevator doors opened, he made a beeline for Provenza's desk. Sanchez glanced up from the files he had opened.

"Sir."

"Hey, Julio," he replied shortly. "Louie, do you anything about that poster in the elevator?"

Provenza lowered his crossword to stare skeptically at his partner. "You clearly know the answer to that, already, Flynn."

"Yeah, well, most people haven't been around long enough to remember I actually did get promoted a couple of times."

"Once upon a time, when the world was young, the LAPD did promote its own on a semi-regular basis."

Amy caught the exchange as she walked in and snickered. "Was that when dinosaurs still walked the earth, Lieutenant?"

"Watch who you're calling old, Sykes. Just because you weren't here. . ."

"I'm not saying I'm not getting to be a dinosaur, too. I'm just saying I'm more of a Cretaceous kind of girl, and you're more. . . Triassic."

Provenza clearly missed the reference, but Tao barked out a laugh before turning his attention to Andy. "Nice to see you back, Andy. How's the Commander?"

"A little stir-crazy already, but doing better. She-" he raised his hands to form quotations. "And I quote- sends her love." He threw his jacket over his chair. "Mike, is it normal for her to be off her pain meds already?" It was still bothering him.

"Uhh. . ." Tao folded his hands behind his head and spun in his chair. "It's been almost three weeks, yeah, that makes sense. I mean, some people are on them longer or shorter than average, but it depends on pain tolerance and how she's healing, the skill of the surgeon, etcetera."

"So it's fine that she's not taking them."

"If she feels okay, then yes. There are some studies that say-" he caught Andy's expression. "Nevermind that. Yes. It should be fine."

"Thanks. I just worry." He had already turned to his computer and missed the smirk that Provenza exchanged with the rest of the room.

"So, where're we at with the whole Stroh business? I'm ready for it to be over."

"Aren't we all?" Buzz muttered.

Julio snorted. "Yeah. So, sir, we traced that account in Cypress to a Gwendoline Stroh, and she's Stroh's mother. We located her, and she's got dementia, sir, so that account is being managed by Hunt Stanford, her other son. He didn't know who was spending the money in the account- he thought it was his mother, we suspect it was Stroh- so he closed it down. Uh, that was late last week."

"We didn't feel the need to update you since you had your hands full with the Commander's care."

As much as Andy wanted to argue, he couldn't fault Provenza's logic. The case, while important, was secondary to Sharon. Being in the loop would have just stressed both of them more. "Yeah, okay."

"And uh, apparently Stroh found his brother as well."

"Aw, hell. You mean-"

"Yep." Amy picked up the narrative. "Stroh tracked his brother down- the brother had refused security by the way, so we can't get sued over that- and killed him after the brother reopened the account. That was last night."

"Shit. We're so close."

"Yeah. We know Stroh had another account to move his mother's money into, and we're trying to find it. Unfortunately, it went into some kind of digital wallet, and uh," Amy turned to look at Tao.

"Bit-coin."

"What coin?"

"Bit-coin. It's an online form of currency, and the going exchange is about one coin for eleven thousand US dollars. Stroh's package is in the range of one-hundred and seventy thousand, or about fifteen Bit-coin." He stood and began walking towards dark conference room.

Andy watched, perplexed, as the rest of the squad followed.

"Flynn, get your ass in here." Provenza waved him over.

"What the hell?" He squeezed into the office behind everyone else, and Tao closed the door. The office, while spacious, was not designed for eight people to comfortably view the computer on the desk.

"The whole murder room has been bugged. The Smartboard and everyone's phones, except yours, the Commander's, and Lieutenant Provenza's. There was a digital virus that the rest of us all managed to share. The lieutenant was only spared because he had his phone off." Tao rolled his eyes. "But this room and the Commander's office are safe."

"But, we just-"

"We're a step behind Stroh and his accomplice. Everything we told you is in the past. They must assume we're tracking the money. We wouldn't be any kid of detectives if we weren't. This, however, is new information." Tao spun the laptop around to reveal what looked like a satellite map. "We're very close to figuring out the physical location of whoever transferred Gwendoline Stroh's money. That kind of transaction leaves an electronic trace, and- with the FBI's help- we've been tracking it. Whoever set it up rerouted it through several different servers and probably a few physical computers. It was planned well in advance. Last night, we were tracing it to Amsterdam, but we're almost done now, I think. We've localized it to Los Angeles, and we're attempting to get an address."

"How long?"

Tao shook his head. "Mm. Could be any minute, could be a few hours. Depends on the level of cybersecurity. I'd guess less than an hour now."

Provenza nodded. "You all heard the man. Get suited up. I want everyone in vests, helmets if you have them, I'll coordinate with SWAT. We're taking no chances today. And, as much as it pains me to say it, alive is preferable. I know we all want to kill the bastard and whoever's helping him, but unless he shoots first. . . Tao, you're the field coordinator. Flynn and I will stay here and coordinate the divisions. Flynn-" Provenza cut his friend off. "I know this is important to you, but you're not cleared for the field. We've got to do this by the books."

Andy waited until the rest of the team had left the room before he burst out angrily. "This has been years in the making. You can't cut me out now!"

"I'm not cutting you out," Provenza growled. "Don't you know I want this as badly as you? We're still in the game, just at the sideline, coaching. We aren't 35 anymore. We're closer to double that, both of us. Part of leading this squad is knowing when to step back and let the young ones loose. You can't tell her I said this, but Sykes is more than ready to spread her wings. Sanchez and Tao are both capable of leading this division if you, me, _and_ Sharon all retired today."

"Rusty-"

"Is as much mine as yours." Provenza looked furious, a rarity. "The kid sticks his nose in too many places, but I love him like one of my own." He turned to face the window for a moment, trying to regain control before he faced Andy again. "Besides, we're already hosting one spaghetti dinner in the breakroom. I'm not going to give it up for another evening if you get yourself shot."

Andy softened. Despite his bark, the old man truly cared. They were all in over their heads and floundering. "Yeah, okay. Thank you." He sighed. "I'm just tired of always being a step behind."

"I know." Provenza clapped his shoulder slowly. "I know. Being older and supposedly wiser doesn't make it any easier."

"Yeah." They stood in silence, watching the bustle in the other room, before Andy spoke again. "I'm just going to call Sharon, give her a heads up. She should be in on this."

"Is she up to it?"

He shrugged. "I think so. She'll be more pissed if I tell her after the fact, and she knows she can't do anything about it, so she'll be alright."

"Very well. I'll meet you in electronics in ten minutes." He slipped out of the office, leaving Andy alone.

He punched in Sharon's number rather than using the speed dial, taking the time to organize his thoughts as he paced between the conference room and her office. He felt like he'd jumped off the deep end of the poolside not knowing how to swim. For so long, Philip Stroh had just been a ghost, nothing real. He'd had an explosive comeback and then vanished from the country and, to be honest, Andy had all but forgotten about him. More than nine times out of ten, once a perp made it off the continent with an off-shore account, he wouldn't be back. He also knew Stroh couldn't have planned it, the timing couldn't have been worse. As a team, their focus was fractured. They were doing their best to keep it together, but over the years, Sharon had eased into their hearts and conquered.

The line only rang twice before the woman in question picked up. "Hi. I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon."

"Hey, babe. I wasn't expecting to call so soon, either."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Things are just moving a lot faster than I thought."

"Oh." She wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't one to feel overwhelmed, but she wasn't sure why he was calling either. "Andy?"

"I just wanted to give you an update."

She paused. ". . . What? I thought-"

"I know, but I think it's important."

"Okay." He could almost hear her frown over the phone.

"They're closing in on Stroh, Sharon. Mike says they might have a location within an hour."

"What?!"

"Hey, hey, hey, calm down, calm down. Nothing's happening yet."

"Where-"

"No," he said gently. "You aren't on this case officially. I just wanted to let you know."

There was a long silence. "I would drive over myself, if I could." Torres hadn't cleared her to drive yet, but said he likely would at her follow-up appointment.

"I know. Provenza and I aren't going anywhere, either. We're sending the rest of them out in the field with SOB when we get a location."

"Oh, good. Mike is taking point?"

"Mm." A thought suddenly hit Andy. "Where's the kid?"

"Rusty?"

"No, Sykes."

She snorted. "He went over to Andrea's office with his detail, said he wanted to grab some papers. I think he was thinking of swinging by to see you."

"See me?"

"Well, everyone in general. I think he's a little bored with the condo."

"That's fair." He remembered who he was speaking to as the words left him mouth. "Sorry." She would be stuck around home far longer than either he or Rusty.

"What if I got a taxi downtown?"

Andy froze, one hand in his pocket, rifling for toothpicks. "What?" He must have misheard.

"A taxi. I can't drive, and you can't take time off to do it, but I could get a ride."

"No, Sharon."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" he sputtered. "Sharon, come on."

She sounded calm and perfectly sensible. "I'd like to be with you. And Rusty."

"Sharon, no, you know how it goes around here on an op. It's exactly the opposite of what you're supposed to be doing. High-stress, work, murderers."

"I'd like to see this out."

He groaned, recognizing the same argument he'd made to Provenza not half an hour before. He paced her office, trying to formulate options, and came up empty handed. _Option one, refuse to allow his wife to observe the arrest of a lifetime._ He'd sleep on the couch for a few nights, he was sure. She'd be pissed as hell, that was also a surety, but she'd be safe. _Option two, allow her to meet him at the murder room._ She'd still be safe, he'd be off the sofa. She'd be stressed, though, watching it happen. She also wasn't the type of person who was _allowed_ things. The first option might not take off, let alone fly.

The LVAD was supposed to allow her near-normal cardiac function; that's what all Andy's research said. When he was reading up on it, that first week in the hospital, he'd found that once she recovered from the surgery, she could go running again. She could watch Rusty's favorite jump-scare horror movies with him. Theoretically, she could yell at chiefs, special agents, and suspects again, too.

"Goddammit!" He kicked her desk in frustration, and, in typical Sharon fashion, it didn't budge in the face of his anger.

"Andy, please."

He needed more time. "How are you feeling?"

The frustrated hiss from the phone gave away Sharon's rising temper. "I am so sick of everyone asking that!" She snapped.

He tried to backpedal. "Look, I just-"

"I feel fine, Andy. I feel, I feel, so, _so_ much better than I did. It hurts, yes, physically, and emotionally, knowing I can't protect my children and you from this, but I don't feel so tired. It doesn't hurt like it did last week or the week before. I have it in hand now. I'm ill, yes, but I'm not broken, Andy, I'm still here, _I'm still here!_ " Her voice broke, and he could tell she was crying. He took a deep breath, feeling like an ass. She was his wife. He loved her, but beyond that, it was his duty to honor her.

"Sharon. I'm sorry."

There was a sniffle, and then "What for?"

"I'm being a jerk."

She hiccupped. "Well, you're not alone."

"You're not a jerk, you're a Sith Lord. Sith Lady?"

"Thank you, darling." She paused again before continuing. "I understand."

"Understand?"

"Why you think I should stay home."

"I get why you want to come in, too." He looked out through the window at the murder room. It was empty now, except for Provenza, staring at the Smartboard, where a drone's view of LA lit up the screen. "We've been with this since the Chief was here, but you've been here, too. I guess I've forgotten that. You might not have been our boss at the time, but you were here for that whole audit, and the whole business with the Chief at the end. You were the first one to her house after Howard. I forgot, and I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. We're a team, and I didn't respect that fact."

"Even teams can argue, Andy, and I'm sorry, too."

They were both silent, and he watched Provenza through the window. He could hear occasional words from the radio exchange. "Tell you what, I'll keep you appraised, hell, we can keep the phone line open, but you stay home and take care of yourself, okay?"

"What is there for me to do here?"

"Sometimes, all you can do is wait. We're not the A-team anymore, and uh, I guess I'm okay with that. I've got you, and the kids, and it looks like this might be over soon."

"I want to be a part of this." Her tone had lost its fire.

"I know, but I want you to be a part of _after_ this, too."

"I'm okay, Andy. Really. Cardiomyopathy is something many people live with. People live their normal lives with LVADs, too. The surgery was a little over two weeks ago, now. I'm feeling so much better. Dr. Torres said- "

"He said he's not letting you come back to work, babe." At least, not for a while.

"I know, but he said I could probably get back to my normal routine after our next appointment, and that's only a few days away."

Andy watched as Rusty walked into the room, flanked by his uniforms. The young man looked around, waved to Andy, and turned to talk to Provenza.

"What if I make you a deal?" Her presence in the office was beginning to look inevitable, but perhaps he could still lay down some ground rules.

He could hear the amusement in her voice. "Let's hear it."

"Come downtown." It seemed inevitable at this point. "Stay here with us and the kid, but head home if this goes past five."

"You're really okay with that?"

"If you say you feel up to it, I believe you. It's pretty quiet here, since everyone will be out with SOB, and you're right; it's not like home will be any more restful. It's safe here, too. I get to see you all day."

"You see me all day, every day."

"Yeah, and now I'm used to it. I miss not seeing you."

She snorted. "Mmhmm."

"Flynn!" Provenza yelled from across the room. "Are you going to actually do any work today, or are you just here as a decoration?"

"I think I hear your wife calling you," Sharon said.

"Don't let him hear you say that. It'll go straight to his ego."

"Can't have that."

"I'll see you in a couple hours, then?"

"Yes. It'll take me a while to get ready and then drive down. I'll let my detail know."

"Call me before you leave?"

"I will."

"You're sure you feel up to this? The ibuprofen is doing okay?"

"Yes and yes."

"If you change your mind, that's okay."

"Honey. I know. If I change my mind, I'll call you. I'll call before I leave here. I'm a big girl."

He smiled at her words. "Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

 _ **A/N- This is my last update before classes resume. I'm not going to be in labs for a million hours/week (yay!), so I'll continue to update on regular basis. Sorry not much happened. The next chapter, as you can guess, will be a big one. Reviews are love. Thank y'all for the follows and favorites, too. (:**_

 _ **Also, Kadi219 just blew my fucking mind with the first chapter of "Fade To Nothing," so uh, you should defs scroll down and click on it. And read it. And review it once you can think in whole sentences again. Her writing, as usual, is incredible.**_


	10. Lacrimosa

_**A/N- Sooorrryyyyy, I'm just struggling with Stroh, thank GOD it's over. FYI, I guess THE videos don't exist here. I didn't even think about it until I was almost done with this chapter. . . sooo, fuck it. "Fuck it" is the going theme for this chapter, haha. I left Gus out of the final showdown, because. . . Why the fuck was he there anyway? Sorry again for the wait, and thanks for being so patient.**_

* * *

 _Qua resurget ex favilla / J_ _udicandus homo reus_

 _(When from the ashes shall arise / The guilty man to be judged_ )

 _-Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart_

* * *

Sharon had finally managed to leave her detail when they all passed through the security in the lobby. It had taken a great deal of effort, but she convinced them to cut her loose. She texted Andy in the elevator, despite knowing that it was unlikely he'd get the message before she arrived.

The text only took a second, and she tapped the photo app on her phone, swiping through the images. There were dozens from the last two weeks. Andy had taken a few, but Emily had taken most of them and then sent the pictures to herself and her siblings. And her grandparents, Andy, her aunt, and both uncles. Sharon hadn't been particularly thrilled, but she understood on some level; the photos were Emily's last hold on her mother, in the case things had gone poorly. The majority of the photos weren't great by any means. They were tired, gritty images of her with her children and her husband, strain visible on everyone's faces. There were a few great shots, though, Sharon had to admit, and they were the only ones with all of her family in them, as the wedding photos hadn't come in yet.

She found the picture she was looking for. It was an earlier one, from the first day in the step down unit. Someone from the medical staff must have taken it: Sharon was in the middle, surrounded by her family, everyone wreathed by balloons and flowers. The flowers almost overpowered everything else in the image, but Sharon liked it for its vibrancy. She tapped the screen a few more times and set the photo as her backdrop, just as the elevator reached the ninth floor.

She stepped out into the marigold hallway. The afternoon sun was lighting it up, casting orange-y warmth around her. The tiled floor didn't echo the flats she was wearing the same way it did her usual heels, and a wave of nostalgia swept over her. She pulled her sweater tighter and headed for the warren of offices that were her home.

Her key card was still active, so she let herself into the murder room, just as a resounding bang rang out over the speakers. There was a loud, high scream, and Provenza's gravelly voice on top of it all.

"Now you've done it, Mike."

"Yep." Tao's voice came over both the speakers and the radio sitting at the front of the room. "Hey," he was now calling for someone near him, not anyone in the murder room. "Can we get paramedics in here? Got a suspect down. And someone call FID, we've got an OIS."

There was another high whimper, then Julio's voice. "Shut up unless you're gonna help us."

Andy finally noticed his wife. "Sharon!"

"Hi." She walked around the little half-height temporary wall and circled back to Andy and Provenza. She drew the chair out from Julio's desk and sat quietly. Quite a bit of action was still continuing on screen, and she didn't want to distract from it.

The camera- she assumed it was a live feed from Buzz- was jolting around in a dark room, making it hard for her to tell what was going on.

"Ella! Where's Ella? Ell-llaaaaa!"

On-screen, Julio knelt next to a young blonde man. "We can help her sooner if you tell us where she is."

"How do I know you're going to help her?" The words were high pitched and closely strung together.

"We're in a much better position to help her than you are." Julio's voice sounded lower than usual in comparison to the other man's. Sharon frowned. It was hard to tell with the poor lighting and the odd angle, but she was fairly sure the man was Carl, the neighbor she had interviewed so long ago.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." He rattled off an address, and Julio looked up.

"Got that?"

"Yeah." It was Amy. "Um, Coop, you want to bring someone and come with me and Julio? I don't think Stroh is going to stick around, but. . ."

"Yeah, sure."

The camera swung wildly, and flashed past Buzz' face before it was turned off. The radios continued to crackle with updates. Sharon realized there were multiple radios in the room, running on different channels for each different agency.

"Command, Sykes."

"Go ahead, Sykes."

"Sykes, Sanchez, Cooper, and Whitman are continuing to Ella Goldberg's address. We will be strike team one from here out on this channel."

"Strike one, tac three. Copy that."

"Strike one out."

"Dispatch, this is AMR two-oh-five, on scene with a 26 year old male, GSW to left shoulder, all vitals within normal range. . ."

Provenza reached for the far radio and turned it down, effectively silencing the chatter.

"How are you, Commander?"

"Good, thank you." She didn't feel much like the Commander. Even on her most casual days, she'd been several steps up from her current jeans and sweatshirt. She had also been more than mildly embarrassed when the staff manning the lobby security hadn't recognized her until she pulled out her badge for them. It wasn't a big deal, but she had forgotten what it was like to walk into a room without everyone knowing who she was. "What's going on?"

Provenza quickly gave her what she suspected was a very abbreviated summary, and rounded it out with a subtle jab at FID when she asked who had shot a civilian.

"He's a perp, Commander," Provenza said with affectionate annoyance. "Not even a suspect at this point. He gave Mike some code word to tap into his system with, and there's a whole dossier on Stroh downloading to our computers now." He gestured to the Smartboard, where, sure enough, a download bar was glowing over the desktop.

"Either way. We've got to-"

"Do this by the rules." He and Andy said in sync.

"I'm only reminding you of that fact because I love you."

Provenza cleared his throat loudly as he turned his the radios. "I'll assume that doesn't apply to me."

"Oh, Lieutenant-" One hand fluttered toward him.

"I'm cutting you off there, Commander." Provenza kept his face away from her as he smiled to himself. "Tao, command."

"This is Tao, go ahead."

"Mike, have you come up with anything?"

"Ah-" The man sounded preoccupied. "Ah, our friend Dylan pointed me to a folder. There is a whole load. . ." he trailed off, keyboard clicking.

"Mike."

"Uh, yeah, it looks like there's- holy crap!"

Sharon leaned forward in her seat, gripping the chair tightly. "Lieutenant Tao, what did you find?" She raised her voice to carry across the room.

"Commander! How-"

"Tao." Provenza cut him off sharply.

"Oh, right, I think this is a flight plan. Looks like a charter flight out of Bob Hope-Burbank for- holy crap, this afternoon."

"Tao, are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah." There was more frantic clicking. "As far as I can tell, this is legitimate, the ticket is set up under a pseudonym, but there's a scan of a driver's license for a William A. Burke, and the photo is Stroh."

"Shit!" Provenza pounded his fist on the desk. He stared at Andy, lost in thought. "Tao is stuck with FID, Sykes and Sanchez are getting that poor girl. Buzz is. . . Buzz." He straightened. "Flynn, I need you to meet Buzz and tactical back-up at that airport."

Sharon pushed to her feet. "Lieutenant-"

"Sharon, I'm cleared." Her husband raised his hands. "I'm cleared for field work, Provenza signed off."

She made a soft noise and frowned. She didn't like the feeling of watching someone she loved dive head-first into danger. Rusty's involvement with Wade Weller so many years ago had been the last time she'd felt that way. She had hoped to never feel that way again.

"Mrs. Bechdal, this is Rusty Beck, again, and I'd really appreciate a call back." Her boy walked around the corner himself with his sharp suit and satchel. He froze in the doorway, realizing he'd walked in on something. "Hi, Mom."

"Hey, honey." She turned her attention back to Andy and ran her hands over his lapels, straightening them, then smoothing his tie. "Go," she whispered.

"Sharon."

"I know. This is your job, and you need to see this through." She looked down, eyes watering. "Be safe."

He nodded fiercely. "I will." He tilted her chin up, and stared at her, memorizing her. Her face was too pale and pinched for his liking, and her eyelashes were suddenly sparkling with moisture. "I'll see you tonight." It was more than a promise.

"Tonight," she agreed. She pulled his lapels once more, then pushed him away. "Go."

He snatched his radio from his desk and left the room at a quick pace, glancing back at her once.

"What's going on?"

Provenza didn't even try to distract Rusty. "We've got a solid lead on Phillip Stroh. He's headed out for an airport. Chartered flight."

Rusty's jaw dropped. "Oh my God, seriously?"

"Yeah," Provenza said slowly. He turned back to look at the files open on the computer screen. "I feel like we're missing something. This just seems. . ."

"Too straight forward," Sharon finished. "I know." She chewed her lip as she watched Provenza maneuver through the dossier files. "Wait! Wait, stop!" She stepped forward and pointed at the screen. "What are these?"

"Uh, bank statements from Gwendoline Stroh's account."

"We presume these orders were placed by Phillip, not Mrs. Stroh?"

"Yeah."

Her finger traced over the words. "He's ordered bulk amounts of pre-packaged food, bottled water."

Rusty moved to stand behind her. "That's not the kind of stuff you'd put on an airplane, is it?"

"No." She looked to Provenza. "What. . .?"

He shook his head, mystified. "Another red herring?"

"No," Rusty cut in. "No, this is the kind of stuff you get if you're going off the grid and not moving around. You can't easily move that much shit of and on a plane."

"Language," Sharon said softly, not focused on the word. "You're thinking-"

"Yeah, and Tammy Bechtal isn't picking up her phone. I've called her, like, twenty times, and it feels wrong. I don't know. But she lives at that marina, and she's Stroh's step-dad's wife."

"You think that Stroh is going to get on a boat," Sharon said flatly as she turned the thought over in her mind. "And kill Mrs. Bechtal to get one."

"Yes."

She sighed. "I don't know."

They listened to the radio chatter in silence. There were high, female screams that subsided with confirmation of the rescue of Ella Goldberg. Andy began organizing how to stage an offensive at the airport and quietly lock it down.

"The kid might be right, Sharon," Provenza finally offered. "I think it's a viable option. I wouldn't say it's not a red herring, but I can't fully rule it in, either."

"We're stretched too thin."

"Tayl-" Provenza shook his head. "Mason can't authorize any more officers for us."

"No one?" Both men could hear the disbelief in her voice.

"No. We've already got SOB and SWAT in on this, from multiple divisions, patrol was pulled in to help with the girlfriend."

"Dammit!"

Provenza circled his desk and gently pushed Sharon down, onto his chair. "Calm down, calm down. You aren't supposed to-"

She rolled her eyes almost violently. "I am perfectly fine-"

"Sharon-"

"Mom-"

She glared at them and amended her statement. "I am fine to sit here. It is fine for me to, to sit here and be angry." Her expression shifted and she bit her lip again. "I cannot, however, help you in the field."

Provenza thought about it for a minute. Technically, she was out on medical leave. She wasn't really supposed to be in the room. Yet no one had rescinded her security clearance while she was gone, so she was still _technically_ an officer, unlike detectives put on mandated leave.

"Sharon, uh- Commander?"

"Yes?"

"Could you run command?"

She frowned, confused. "You mean the communications here?"

"Yes."

"What are you planning?"

"Burbank is on the way to the marina. I'm going to stop by, pick up a couple people from that task force, and go to the marina. I don't want to leave any stones unturned." He looked at her grimly and knew they shared an understanding. "We can't leave any loopholes this time. This is long overdue and very, _very_ personal."

"I can run communications." She pushed herself out of his chair and moved over to the radios, familiarizing herself with the channels and Provenza's organization. She nodded to herself before facing him. "Be careful. He's smart, and I think he's cocky, but I think he knows how to keep himself in check."

Provenza snorted. "Yeah, he's really been working on checks and balances since he came back stateside. I understand," he added.

"Lieutenant," Rusty cut in. "I want to go with."

"Absolutely not." The words were out of Sharon's mouth before she could even process them.

"Mom. I really think Tammy Bechtal might be dead."

"Because she's not picking up the phone?" When her son nodded, she continued. "Then it's a matter for the LAPD."

"I'll stay in the car."

"Mmhmm." She clearly didn't believe him. "Rusty, I can't-"

"Keep me safe, I know. I know, but I can take care of myself." His expression twisted as he spoke. He could remember telling her that so many years before, when he was in emergency care and still calling her _Captain Raydor_. "This is just. . . It's really important to me. I need to see it through, and I've come this far on it." He waved a hand towards the notes and photos he'd added to her squad's work. He wasn't a cop or anything, but he felt drawn to see the conclusion. The case had lasted nearly half his lifetime, and had been the discerning factor for him. What happened six years before was bad, sure, but what had followed had been the best years of his life. He'd found a mother and a father, lost them both, found his mom, graduated, found a family, graduated college, and found a purpose. "Please, Mom."

Sharon let out an exasperated breath.

"Commander." Provenza had his jacket on and was ready to leave. "We're running out of time."

She groaned quietly. This was the endgame. She couldn't shelter Rusty under her wings forever, but nor could she let him blindly fall out of the nest. She opened her eyes and caught Provenza's gaze. "Bring my son back to me."

There was a moment of silence, then he saluted her with two fingers. "Ma'am."

She turned to the boy. "Be safe. That gun is your last resort. You are not an officer. Do not pull that trigger unless it is the last option. Okay?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Okay."

He watched her lips tighten, and knew it wasn't what she wanted to do. "I love you."

"I know. Listen to Lieutenant Provenza. I'll see you tonight."

He nodded and jogged over to join Provenza as the old detective started away.

Sharon watched them go and finally returned her attention to the radios. They were clearly a quick fix, hastily set up. Usually, a command station would have a computer that would interface between all the radios, allowing her to speak to any and all with one microphone and one headset. At least, that was how her mobile command had been in FID. She began organizing Provenza's system, making a mental note to begin budgeting for- if nothing else- a better radio system for Major Crimes.

The channels were relatively quiet as various units began reorganizing. Sykes' team followed the girl they rescued to the hospital, leaving Cooper and the patrolman to stay with her and the young man Tao had shot.

Tao himself was running through the computer files while he worked with Sharon's old team. He kept an open mic to speak with her as he verified the dossier's contents. She was pleased to note that now-Lieutenant Ellis was doing his best to accommodate her by allowing Tao to double-task. Ellis was quietly asking questions and occasionally helping Mike with the computer. Sharon had forgotten how good her old sergeant had been with electronics, but he was rapidly proving himself again.

She had thought Andy was going to explode when she announced her presence and command over the radios. He had only been a few minutes away from Burbank when she did it, so he'd had to contain his anger and muster his officers. He'd sounded tense, and she knew there would be fallout later.

Provenza checked in with her when he, Buzz, and Rusty arrived at the marina, and she tried to keep her worry at bay, choosing to focus on Amy's arrival at the Burbank airport.

So far, nothing had happened. Andy seemed to be maintaining control well, but she could tell they were all jumpy. Nothing had happened, but all the messages coming in and out of the airport were snappy and short.

"Uh, Command, Provenza."

Sharon reached for the microphone button and toggled it. "Provenza, continue."

"Yeah, we need a bus out here, uh, suspicions confirmed." He was mincing his words, but she understood. There were rules about what could and couldn't be said over a radio, as well as the ever-present threat of news agencies listening in.

"Damn." The word echoed in the empty room. She toggled the button again. "I'll get that rolling. Do you need back-up?"

There was a long pause. "That might be good, yeah. Send Sanchez and Sykes."

"Copy that." She called in to the airport first, prioritizing her live people over yet another she couldn't save. Amy and Julio were fast and good in high-stress situations. If Provenza wanted them, it was likely that he'd found some indication of Stroh, that the epicenter was moving from Burbank to the coast.

Her phone rang a minute later, and she drew it out of her pocket. Provenza again. She frowned, drawing her finger across the screen.

"Lieutenant?"

"I know this is unorthodox, but I have a feeling we might be in over our heads."

"What-?"

"We're in the Bechtals' house. The wife is dead in her closet, few hours, I'd guess."

"What about that is screaming Stroh to you?"

Provenza spoke quietly. "The kid came up with a good idea. There's a photo of this yacht on the wall, a _Ms. Bechtal_ , and I can't imagine Stroh would find anything as. . . pleasing as making off in that boat."

"Scot-free with his step-father's boat. Yes, I could see that, especially with all those supplies we saw in the dossier. The boat is at the marina?"

"Yeah, I haven't gone down to it, Rusty said he can see it out the window. Of the car," he added hurriedly.

"It's alright," she sighed. "Amy and Julio are coming to you, lights and sirens, but they're probably still ten minutes out."

"Aw, hell."

"I know."

"I want to go out to that boat."

"That's not procedure!" The words slipped out, and Provenza groaned.

"Commander, you and the rules!"

"No, Louie," her voice dropped. "It's just you, and no back-up."

"I've got Buzz."

"Buzz is a reservist."

"Sharon, if he's on that boat and he gets away. . . I'd rather give my life stopping him here and now, than stick around and die in another ten or twenty years not knowing he's been on Morales' table."

Her throat tightened, and she tilted her head back. "I can't stop you."

"No."

"I'll tell Amy to drive faster."

There was another momentary silence. "Mute your end of the phone. I'll keep the call going. If we're going to even try vaguely observing your rules, we need a record of what happens."

"Okay." Before she muted her phone, she added one more comment. "Good hunting." She crossed to Mike's desk and pulled his recorder out of the drawer. For whatever reason, he'd always kept one there. She set it up next to her phone's speaker and sat back down in her chair. A moment later, she radioed her husband again and diverted more of his force to the marina. She placed a second call to dispatch and requested an ambulance be staged near the marina. Whatever happened, she was sure someone would be bleeding. She had never prayed for harm to befall someone, as much as she has sometimes wanted, but she prayed that the paramedics would be for Stroh, exclusively.

There wasn't much noise now, except the background sirens whenever anyone got on the radios to talk. She could hear soft creaks and rustles from her phone, and she tapped her feet against the tiled floor nervously.

"We're almost there," Amy said suddenly. "I'm just going to park in front of the dock gate. Commander, did the Lieutenant say where the boat is?"

"Dock M. It's called Ms. Bechtal."

"Bechtal, copy."

There was another agonizing silence, and Sharon lunged out of her chair when it broke.

"Hell," Provenza whispered.

Sharon rested her hands on either side of the phone, resisting the urge to unmute it and ask what was wrong. He hadn't yelled, hadn't called for help, so she had to trust him.

"We're here," Amy announced tersely. There were a series of bangs as she and Sanchez left the car, and Sharon could hear the sirens wailing, pitch dropping as Amy presumably rounded the car and began jogging down to the docks.

"Freeze, asshole!" The words came from the phone this time, and Sharon closed her eyes in consternation. She reached into her pocket, as she had for so many years, and ran her fingers over her rosary.

"Sancte Michael Archangele," she whispered. _Saint Michael the Archangel,_ patron saint of policemen. Once again, she was powerless. There was nothing she could do but hope for the best. "Defende nos in proelio." _Defend us in battle. Please, Amy, hurry. Please, Julio._

There was a metallic clatter, too light to be a falling sidearm.

"Set the knife down, and put the handcuffs on." Provenza's tone was low and steady, not betraying any emotion. "Easy does it."

"Lieutenant Provenza, what an unpleasant surprise."

Sharon tensed at the oily tone. She could have gone the rest of her life without hearing it again.

"Handcuffs on, stop screwing around."

"I know Brenda's been out of the job for a while now, but I was expecting to see your Captain. Oh, that's right, she's been quite ill recently, hasn't she? Something about a heart attack, I heard?"

One of the radios crackled to life, and Sharon jumped at the noise.

There was heavy breathing and a rhythmic pounding. "At the docks, ma'am." It was Sanchez. "We're almost there. I can see-"

"What the fuck?" Uncharacteristically, Amy swore somewhere in the background, and the radio connection dropped.

"Kick the knife away." Provenza's side of the story resumed.

"Pity she made it past that, I would have enjoyed watching her funeral on the news. I'd imagine they'd cover that. Highest ranked woman in the one of the largest police departments in the country, yeah, that'd be news."

"Final warning."

Sharon grimaced. As tough as he was playing, the lieutenant was starting to feel the pressure. She was, too. Whatever Amy and Julio had seen was happening on-shore, and if Stroh was with Provenza. . .

"Okay, okay, just thought we could have a little chat, catch up. . ."

There was another long quiet, punctuated by the sound of what Sharon presumed was Stroh's knife skittering across the floor.

"Easy does it. . ."

Sharon grabbed the radio to Andy. "Andy, Provenza has Stroh at the marina. I'm requesting all your non-necessary personnel relocate-" She could hear the pitch of her voice rising in a panic.

"Yes, ma'am. Sharon, deep breath."

"Stop!" It was a loud shriek, higher than Provenza, but a masculine tone nonetheless.

The radio slipped from Sharon's hand. "Rusty."

"Russell Beck, we meet again."

The words froze her on the spot.

"Lieutenant," Rusty's voice was shaking slightly. "He's got a gun in his sock."

"Not even going to talk to me, Rusty?"

"Straighten up, Stroh," Provenza said roughly.

"Stop, down, up. . . Make up your mind, old man. That's what we all have to do right now. Shoot, don't shoot. Stop, start, come. . . go."

 _Go._

Sharon screamed as a gunshot echoed through her phone and Amy's radio squawked to life again.

"I've got shots fired! Requesting back-up!"

Sharon reached for her phone, suddenly aware that she was on her knees before Provenza's desk.

"Lieutenant!" She unmuted the line as she spoke. " _Lieutenant Provenza!_ "

There was a scuffling noise, and a low moan.

"He's okay, Sharon. He's okay." Provenza sounded slightly out of breath.

She sank back on her heels and pressed one hand to her heart, feeling her pulse pounding in her throat.

"Oh my God."

There was more pounding and indistinct shouting, and then Sharon could hear both Amy and Julio.

"I got it, Rusty. I got it." Amy's words were followed by a thump and a sharp gasp from whoever had moaned a minute before. "I gotta put pressure on your wound, sir. Can't have you die on us here."

"Rusty, come here. Yeah, just put that down, he's not going anywhere." A pause, then Julio added "Nice shot."

"Rusty!"

Provenza couldn't tell if his boss sounded more outraged or shocked as she finally put the pieces together. "He's fine, Commander," he said gently. "It's okay. Stroh went for that gun, and Rusty got him clean through the shoulder. Bastard's going to be fine. It was a good shot. Takes after his mother." She made a strangled noise that may have been a laugh, but he wasn't really sure. "Are you okay, Sharon?" he added quietly, turning away from the scene before him.

"Mm." She took a deep breath. "Rusty's okay?"

"Yep. A little shaken, but he's fine."

"You're okay?"

Provenza chuckled. "I feel wonderful, Commander. I've been waiting for this day to come."

"Okay. Okay. Uhm, I'll get FID to your location. They're probably done with Mike, at least at the scene. There'll be more paperwork, and the 72-hour-"

She was rambling, and he cut her off. "Hey. Sit yourself down, and just," he shrugged reflexively, knowing she couldn't see him. "Make a cup of tea. Breathe. Everyone is fine. As soon as we're cleared off the scene, I'll bring the kid to you myself." He lowered his voice further. "He did the right thing, Sharon. I know you didn't want this, but it was a good call. I didn't have as good a line of sight as he did, and he caught the gun a second earlier than I did. Probably saved at least one of our lives, maybe both of us."

"Okay." She was overwhelmed.

"I'm going to hang up, call Flynn, and tell him to get his ass back to the office. Howard is at the airport, too, so he can take charge."

"Okay. That would be good."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll see you soon."

"See you soon," she echoed.

 _ **A/N- I should have the next chapter out soon. I was just really struggling with how to end all that balogna. Anyways. I still feel like Sharon is going to be pissed AF once she gets over the initial adrenaline haha. . . You've got that to look forward to (;**_


	11. Give Love

_**A/N- where I grew up, frosting and icing are the same thing. I'm talking about what you put on a cake, just FYI. Also, I'm assuming it was just scheduling conflicts that didn't allow them to write Nicole into the wedding.**_

* * *

 _I give love to all of my people / All of my people need love, I give some_

 _'Cause in the end, the love we take's / Got nothing on the love we make_

 _-Andy Grammar ft. Lunchmoney Lewis_

* * *

Two hours on, and the murder room was still the busiest Sharon had seen it. It was flooded by the team Andy had taken to Burbank and several airport employees that had come to give statements about the plane that had been waiting in the hangar for Phillip Stroh. An expensive decoy, Sharon surmised, but an effective one.

Mike had returned not half an hour before with all of the computer equipment from Dylan Baxter's house. Sharon had sat back and watched as officer after officer lugged crates of electronics through the room. Mike had directed them to a corner and was busy trying to recreate the system. Even though there was a copy of Dylan's dossier on the LAPD system, they would still need to at least attempt to read through all the other data that was there.

"Here."

Her concentration was disrupted, and she refocused on the steaming ceramic mug that was being held under her nose. The steam smelled spicy and faintly sweet.

"Thank you." She took the mug from Andy and watched as he settled onto the desk next to her. The mug warmed her hands and she took a sip. The blend was her favorite, a liquorice one that everyone else seemed to hate. Andy had picked up on it some years ago when she'd began keeping a box of the tea in the breakroom. "How are you?"

He groaned tiredly. "Do you know how many people staff that damn airport? It's going to take years to interview them all and figure out who was Stroh's in there."

"Job security," she smiled.

He shook his head and picked up his own mug from the desk. It was coffee, Amy had made the pot, so it was, as she put it, strong and dark enough to polish boots with.

"Are you planning on staying?" he asked.

"At least until Rusty gets here, yes. I was thinking he and I could go home together. I already called downstairs and dismissed both our security details, and lost my ride home in doing so." She smiled briefly before sobering again. "IA is. . . not taking over our investigation into Stroh, but they're stepping in to clear Rusty for shooting him. It would be rather uncouth for Major Crimes to do so, thought it would usually be us or Robbery-Homicide."

"Provenza called and told you all that?"

"Mm." She caught the look of annoyance on Andy's face. "Honey, don't blame him. I heard most of it over the comms, and I would have heard all about it eventually."

"I don't like that you were here to begin with," he rumbled.

She sipped her tea, watching him over the rim of her mug. He had been so twisted up inside since her last hospitalization, she knew. He was trying to stay strong for her, get them both through what was perhaps the worst months of their lives without stumbling. She knew he talked with Provenza, his sponsor, and his therapist, but none of them were her. She was his wife, and they needed to talk. Some things in life remained solely between husband and wife, and right now he was keeping a hold of all of them in an effort to protect her.

"I wasn't doing much, and I didn't come here _intending_ to do anything."

"I know, babe." He watched her turn her thoughts over. She didn't say anything, but she was clearly thinking about Rusty. Provenza had texted Andy a few minutes before to tell him they were leaving the marina. He'd also said that Internal Affairs had finished their interview, but would probably have a few more questions as time went on. In Provenza's opinion, Rusty had been justified, Stroh wasn't dead- unfortunately- and the boy would be fine after he saw his mother and maybe Dr. Joe. Andy thought Provenza might have been sugar-coating his explanation of the facts, but he wasn't going to say anything about it over text.

"I just," Sharon set her mug down hard on the desk. "I thought I taught him about guns. Not to use them unless it was a last resort."

"From what I understand, that's what it was." Again, all he'd heard was Provenza's story via text message.

"He followed the Lieutenant onto the yacht!" Sharon's voice rose, and she looked around. Either the hubbub in the room was indeed great enough to have drowned out her words, or her detectives were doing a better job than usual at pretending not to have heard. She suspected the latter, especially when Andy stood and offered her his hand. She took it, frowning, and let herself be led into her own office.

It was dark and stale, but someone had been watering the orchids she'd moved onto the windowsills before the wedding. The cream and orange blooms were still hanging to their stems. She crossed the room and opened the blinds that faced the city. When she turned back, Andy was still blinking in the sudden light. This time, she reached her hand out to him, and they sat in the chairs in front of her desk, fingers intertwined.

She felt on edge in her office. The last time she'd been in it was. . . She remembered her vision going blurry, then seeing silver stars dance through the room in perfect focus, and then nothing until she woke up in the hospital.

Andy probably felt about the same, she realized. He'd confessed to her one night that no one but custodial staff had been in the office since then, that Julio _refused_ to step foot inside.

"He followed Lieutenant Provenza onto the yacht, after he was told to stay in the car," she finally offered.

It was the truth, Andy knew, and there was no way around that. "It sounds like he may also have saved Provenza's life."

"Yes." Sharon shifted in her seat, then slipped her feet out of her flats and brought her knees up to her chest. "And that is why I cannot be wholly angry with him. On one hand, I am furious, furious, with him. What he did was wantonly dangerous. Completely idiotic. But on the other hand, he may very well have saved on of our best and oldest friends."

Andy smiled at her description of Provenza.

"Do I ground him, praise him, or just thank God everyone is still alive?"

"Well," he reached for her hand again and ran his thumb soothingly over her knuckles. "I'd go with a combination of the three."

"That's the easy way out." He wasn't looking at her, but he could hear the teasing note.

"It may be, but I don't think it's wrong. You're worried about the kid. He disobeyed you, broke the one rule you had with him. The one constant rule you've had since the beginning," Andy amended. "That's pretty bad, but it was for the right reasons."

"That's why I was in FID, Andy. To keep people from doing the wrong things for the right reasons." She stared past him, out the window.

"Let me ask you something."

"What?"

"You like the Chief, right?"

"Leo?"

"Nah, I mean Chief Johnson."

She twisted to look at him. "Yes."

"You're friends, right?"

"Yes. . ."

"And you respect her."

"Of course," she said emphatically.

"Sharon, when I first met you, really met you, you were in FID. Your whole job was to keep us and the Chief from screwing up too bad."

She scoffed. "That wasn't the only thing I did."

"I know. You did good stuff, as little as we seemed to appreciate it. Either way, Chief Johnson was the instigator of a whole hell of a lot of PSB cases. And, uh, Provenza and I may have contributed to that a little, but look: she's a friend of yours, Provenza's one of your best friends, and you married me. Clearly the people FID investigated weren't all bad."

She smiled slowly and squeezed his hand. "You're much more eloquent than you used to be, Flynn."

"Thank you, _Flynn._ "

She unfolded herself from the chair. Her legs were pressing on her still-healing incisions, and, frankly, she wasn't as flexible as she used to be. "That's the praise him part. What about the other two?"

"Oh, well, I'm all for grounding the kid. Grounding builds character."

"Mm. He's been stuck around home enough as it is, lately." She sighed. "I'm too tired to be properly angry." It had been a long day, one of the longest that she'd had in the lately. Simply getting out of the condo and interacting with so many people was exhausting. Actually working was more so, and as much as she'd deny it to Andy, running the radios had required effort, real effort.

"Rusty and Provenza won't be back for a while, so why don't you catch a few winks in here?" He shrugged at her.

"How far out are they?"

He thought about it. They probably weren't more than half an hour out now, but he knew she'd stick it out if he said that. When she'd been in the hospital, she'd always fight to stay aware until her kids arrived if they were on their way from almost anywhere in the city. "A little more than an hour, maybe?"

She hummed. "Is there anything else I can do here for anyone?"

"Unless you wanna help Tao and Buzz with the computers, no."

"Wake me up when they get to the parking garage?"

Andy pushed himself out of his chair. She must have been truly worn out if she wasn't going to argue over a nap. "Yes, ma'am." He moved the chair so Sharon could prop her feet up on it, then passed her his jacket. "I'll come and get you when Provenza texts me." He wouldn't, but she didn't need to know that.

"Mmkay."

He slipped out of the office, flipped the lights off, and closed the door behind himself. Julio and Sykes were just coming into the murder room and looked at him questioningly.

"Commander's taking a break," he said.

Julio nodded. "Can't believe they let her come in, even for this."

Andy grinned at him. "No one lets her do anything."

Julio snorted and even Amy smiled before she spoke.

"Rusty and the Lieutenant are just a little bit behind us."

"I figured as much, but she was fading pretty fast." He made his way over to the white board and began looking at the new files that had been tacked to it. Mike and Buzz had printed off part of the dossier and begun highlighting and circling various paragraphs and financial statements. None of it would be game-changing information at this point, just decorative frosting on the cake. "She's pretty pissed at the kid, and I figured she didn't need to deal with that at the moment."

"Is she okay?" Amy asked. Andy was constantly amazed by her gentle concern and glowing enthusiasm. After so long in the military police, robbery-homicide unit, and then major crimes, he would have expected her to have lost some of her naïveté . Maybe that was why Sharon had hired her, he thought: Amy's unquenchable avidity and deep-cut love for her uniformed kinfolk.

"Yeah, Sykes," he said finally. "She's alright. Today just knocked the stuffing out of her."

Amy blinked at the colloquialism, and Andy pushed his palms up his forehead. He was tired, too, and it was starting to show. It had probably been showing, if he was honest with himself. Many recent nights had been sleepless, and those where he'd managed sleep were mixed with bad dreams and Sharon's own restlessness.

"Okay." She decided to take him at his word, and silently began helping him with his reorganization.

As he'd predicted, Rusty and Provenza showed up barely ten minutes after he'd left Sharon's office. The old lieutenant simply looked tired, but Rusty looked shaken and a little pale. Andy felt somewhat gratified. It lessened the weight on his shoulders slightly to see that Rusty hadn't just taken the shooting in stride. Nevertheless, Andy turned and walked over to them, drawing the kid into a tight hug. He met Provenza's gaze over the boy's head.

 _Thank you,_ he mouthed.

The old lieutenant nodded. If Andy had been looking carefully, he would have thought the man's eyes were unusually bright.

After a moment, Andy squeezed Rusty's shoulder and released him.

"You did good, kid."

Rusty shrugged. "I just did. . ." he trailed off. "I was going to say _what any normal, sane person would do,_ but clearly that's not what I am, so, yeah."

Andy raised an eyebrow. "Don't beat yourself up, kid. You did what any normal, sane person who didn't stay in the car like his mom told him to would do." He softened slightly when Rusty wilted. "She's mad, but it's because she was worried about you. I think she'll get over it once her mind catches up to her heart and she remembers how much she likes having Lieutenant Provenza around. "

Rusty nodded. "I still disobeyed, though. And shot someone."

"Yeah, well, the asshole had it coming," Provenza said. He had already had it out with the kid. He knew that both Flynn and Sharon would be having similar conversations with Rusty, despite the boy having already had one formally with PSB and one informally with Provenza himself.

Andy spoke at the same time as his partner. "You met with FID, and you aren't going to do it again, are you?"

Rusty looked at them, disbelieving. "Are you crazy?"

Andy shrugged. "People shoot other people all the time, Rusty." The words sounded cold, but he meant it.

"No! That was literally, like, the only reason I wanted to learn to handle a gun and get a permit in the first place. Just Stroh. And, like, I didn't-" he threw his hands up in the air. "It's not like I wanted to shoot him or anything. I mean-" He huffed, starting to get annoyed. "I saw that he had a gun in his sock, and. . ." He waved his hand again.

"I'll give you some credit. That was good quick thinking. But why were you on the boat in the first place? Your mom told you to stay in the car, and I'm sure he did, too." Andy jerked his thumb at Provenza.

Rusty looked down. "I had a feeling."

Andy looked down at him. "You gotta give me more than that, kid. Feelings aren't going to fly with Sharon."

Rusty's jaw dropped slightly. "Am I going to have to go over this again?"

"What do you think?"

Rusty groaned. "Okay. Honestly? I didn't like Lieutenant Provenza going in alone."

Of all the things he was expecting, that wasn't one. Andy glanced at Provenza, and the other man looked surprised, too. Clearly, Rusty hadn't disclosed that, at least not to anyone outside PSB.

Rusty shrugged when he caught their expressions. "I'm telling you the truth. Everyone else was at least a couple minutes behind us, and Phillip Stroh would always do shit like that, you know? Like, hide and jump out at people, or creep around and climb in windows."

Andy could tell the kid was getting upset. He was defensive, and his usual oratory was deteriorating. Nevertheless, he let the boy continue. Rusty clearly needed to say it and Andy needed to hear it.

"And like, no offense, Lieutenant, you're good, but you don't have eyes in the back of your head."

Provenza sighed heavily. "He's right. I don't know how well you've been briefed, but we think Stroh did just that. It looks like he hid in a storage cabinet, let me pass him, and circled past me. He wasn't banking on Rusty, and Rusty came upstairs after both Stroh and myself."

For once, Rusty didn't look particularly pleased to be right. "I'm sorry."

Andy met Provenza's gaze over Rusty's head again. They stood in silence for a long minute, and then Provenza spoke.

"Don't be, kid." He reached out and squeezed Rusty's shoulder. "I like my wife. I like being around to Flynn-sit. Both of them," he added. "And you're right, I don't have eyes in that back of my head. You did the right thing. Sometimes it's not what the rules say to do, or what your parents say, or even what I say, but it's still the right thing. That being said, I don't want you _ever_ putting yourself in a situation like that again."

Rusty closed his eyes. "Thanks. I have a feeling I'm going to be told not to do it again multiple times tonight."

"Oh, yes," Andy said. The dark moment had passed, and the mood was lightening again. "I hate to break it to you, but your mom is going to rip you a new one tonight."

"Oh my Go-odd," Rusty tipped his head back. "Please."

"You're the one who shot someone, kid. This has been her job for most of her life, and she's damn good at it."

"Is she still on her pain meds?" Rusty asked hopefully. Whatever Sharon was on, it gave her a tendency to fall asleep before dinner. If _that_ happened-

"Sorry to disappoint. She quit this morning." Andy chuckled at the look on Rusty's face.

The boy pulled his jacket off and draped it over his arm, slowly smoothing out wrinkles. "Okay. I'm guessing she's still here?"

"Yeah. In her office." Andy reached out and held Rusty back. "Tell you what, take my card and grab one of those cardboard boxes of coffee from the place down the street."

"What?" Rusty was confused by the non sequitur.

"Make it two," Provenza said. "One only has something like twelve cups in it." He pulled out his wallet and wagged it at Andy. "This is just happening once. You and the Commander have plenty of medical bills to deal with-"

Andy groaned.

"So the least I can do is get you a cup of joe." He softened on the last few words. He tossed the wallet to Rusty, who caught it deftly and slipped back out the door before anyone could stop him.

"I'm free," he called over his shoulder. "Be free, Rusty!"

"Real comedian you've got," Provenza muttered. "Let's get this finished up before he comes back and we have to wake the beast."

It took a moment, before Andy caught the reference. "Did you just call my wife _the beast_?"

* * *

"Mom?" Rusty set both cups on the edge of her desk and watched her for a moment. Andy had said she was asleep in her office, and Rusty quickly realized that his coffee run was a ploy to get her an extra hour of sleep.

He'd come back with the coffee and a bag of cups and additives, and spent the better part of another hour in the murder room with her team, all of them taking cups and slowly decompressing from the day. Finally, Andy had nodded to the boy, and Rusty had gotten up from his seat on Julio's desk and grabbed a second cup of coffee for Sharon.

He hesitated between stepping into her office. The last time he'd been so close to the doorway, Brenda's husband had been right behind him, jerking Rusty back off his feet. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

It was dark, the blinds mostly closed. Her orchids shivered on the shelf, and he realized the window was cracked open. She was airing out the office, airing out the malaise and demons she'd left behind.

He knew his mother was average height, a little on the tall side, but she had somehow managed to curl up on the two chairs in front of her desk. She had turned the second one perpendicular to the first and threaded her legs through its arms. Her knees rested on the seat of the chair, but her feet and ankles dangled over the end. One of her arms was awkwardly pulled up under her side, and Rusty realized she was trying to keep the battery from her heart machine thing from poking her.

She looked small, not so much as she had in the hospital, but not like herself either. He had gotten used to her physically being at about his height with her heels, but still managing to tower over everyone in a room with her presence.

"Mom." He wiggled her elbow gently.

She inhaled deeply and raised her hand to her face. She pushed one finger up along the bridge of her nose, then realized she wasn't wearing her glasses, and fumbled for them.

"Here."

She accepted them with a smile and slowly pushed herself up, untangling her legs from the chair. They both laughed as her back crackled. She flexed her shoulders again and listened to one last _pop._

"You're too old to be sleeping in these crappy chairs, Mom."

She smiled at him again and gestured to the second, now vacant, chair. He dropped into it, then leaned forward to pass her her own cup of coffee.

"I'm not bribing you, I promise."

She sipped it carefully, testing its temperature. Hot, with a little bit of sugar in it, just as she liked it. Along with everything else, she wasn't supposed to be drinking much caffeine, and she hadn't been in the mood to drink the watered-down version the hospital had offered. She hadn't been in the mood for anything but laying in bed with the duvet over her head once she got home.

"We're going to have a talk."

She looked up at Rusty in surprise as he spoke.

"I know I disobeyed, Mom, but I think I had a good reason to. I've had the talk from Lieutenant Provenza, and a Lieutenant Ellis, and Andy, and Julio sort of, and I think I know some of the stuff you're going to say, but can we push it off until later? They're in a pretty good mood now, out there, and you should come have some fun."

Sharon took another sip and contemplated her options. Rusty was right, they were going to have a talk about his actions. Although. . . it sounded like he'd already been told off multiple times. Her nap had ameliorated her anger, and she suspected Andy may have set her up for that.

"You understand that I'm still very angry."

"Yeah."

"But I'm glad you're okay. More than glad."

"I know, Mom." It sounded cliché, and he tried not to wince when he said it.

"Okay. I'll be angry at you later, but come here." She set her cup down and reached out.

Rusty stood and walked into her hug. She stood and wrapped her arms around his chest, leaning into him. He held her until she finally pulled back.

"You said there's a party going on out there?"

Rusty grinned. The storm had passed for now. "Well, it hadn't started when I came in here."

Sharon shook her head. "I can't leave your father alone with Provenza for a moment. Oh!" Her mouth fell open and she realized what she said a moment before Rusty did. "I-"

He nudged her with his shoulder. "You're the one who married him, Mom. It's cool."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He opened the door for her and a thought hit him. "Since _Dad_ already chewed me out, can we just call it good?"

She laughed. "Oh, no, mister. Not a chance."

The light quality had changed during her nap, and she guessed it was close to six. She shot a look at her husband and he shrugged, not looking at all remorseful.

Fritz stood up when she came closer. "Congratulations." He shook her hand and clasped his left hand over top. "I can't emphasize how glad I am this is over." He caught her dubious expression. "Maximum security, solitary confinement, getting the trial on the express track is priority number one."

Rusty moaned. "Ugh, I never want to hear the word 'trial' again."

Sharon snorted. "You're the one going to law school."

"Mo-oom! I'm leaving now, and getting some cake. I missed lunch, and you and Andy are going to pick something weird for dinner." He ducked away, making a beeline for the spare desk where, sure enough, there was a sheet cake.

Fritz offered his arm to Sharon, and they walked over at a more dignified pace. "Brenda and Rusty told me the same thing today."

"What's that?"

"'I can't believe it's finally over.'"

"Hmm. This has been going on longer than either of us have known Rusty, and longer than I've known Brenda Leigh."

"As long as our marriage," Fritz said. He laughed slightly. "God. It doesn't seem right thinking about it like that."

"Then don't." Sharon shrugged and smiled at him. "Let's see what this cake is all about." Her detectives parted for her, and she stepped up to Julio's side.

"They trusted you with the knife, Julio?"

"Yes, ma'am. We couldn't see giving it to Sykes, Wes, or the kid, and I don't trust any of the lieutenants with it."

"And they trusted you?"

"I have the knife."

She laughed and looked down at the cake. It was iced in white, bordered in roses, with _Congratulations!_ scripted across it in blue. Someone had taken more blue frosting and written _Thank God_. underneath in jagged letters. She suspected Provenza was responsible for the modification.

"Congratulations and thank God for what exactly?" she asked.

The lieutenant in question was laying out paper plates. "Getting engaged, married, divorced, catching Stroh, finally breaking out of the hospital. . . Not necessarily in that order. There are plenty of reasons for celebration."

"Fair enough." She took a fork and began transferring the pieces Julio cut to the plates.

"Nolan, you seem like the type to like icing, yes?" Provenza held the corner piece out.

"God, yes."

"Minimal frosting for Flynn, Tao, and the Chief, edge for the kid." He glanced at Amy. "You like frosting."

She beamed. "Yep!"

Provenza took a center piece for himself, then looked at Sharon an sighed appraisingly. "You have a serious sense of occasion, but I have a feeling you're following your diet to the letter. You can do that every other day, but today calls for celebration. Edge with flowers."

"You know me well, Lieutenant."

"Yes, well, that happens when you have a good team." He nodded solemnly. "We've come a long way, Commander." They weren't the same people they'd been when they'd gotten their first case as the reformed Major Crimes Division.

"Indeed." She took a small bite of cake and nodded to herself. "Where have they got Stroh?" she asked quietly.

Provenza side-eyed her. "Really?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Lieutenant. I'm as invested in this as you."

"Yes, but you're also on medical leave. And no, today's temporary reinstatement doesn't grant you access to the case. Nor does being married to that idiot." He waved at Flynn, who was laughing with Fritz and the others by the windowed wall.

"I haven't seen them all so happy in a long time."

"Yeah, well. You know how it goes when you break a big case. We just haven't had one like this in a while. Not this close to home, anyways. I know Saint Joe's is special to you, and we've had our moments, but this, this is something else." He stood next to her quietly, watching. She was wearing an old academy sweatshirt, with her last name emblazoned on the back in cracking stencil letters. To his surprise, she didn't look as relieved as he'd have expected. "What's on your mind, Sharon?"

She set her half-eaten cake on his desk and crossed her arms. "He's escaped jail before."

"Yeah, but not from inside the jail, and not maximum security."

"You think this is really the end?"

For once, he took time to think before speaking. "This isn't the end. This is perhaps his end- it'd damn well better be his end- but it's not our end."

"What if I decide to retire?"

Provenza blinked. It made sense, but he'd never expected her to suggest it. Even when he sat with her in the hospital and she was half out of her mind on morphine, she'd never mentioned it. "You'd really park your broom for good?"

She smirked at the reference. "Maybe. There've been enough bullets, enough pain and suffering to last me another lifetime."

"We've had good times."

"We have," she acknowledged. "Many of them."

"Then why leave now?"

"I'm tired, Louie."

He didn't know how to reply to that. She didn't mean tired in the sense of needing a good night's sleep. She was tired like good cops were when they started to burn out. He'd seen people stay on the force as they burned, and it wasn't pretty for anyone involved. In his experience, it was better to simply let them go.

"Are you sure?"

"No."

 _That_ caught his attention. "Don't quit yet, then."

"Are you trying to tell me you'll miss me?" She smiled halfheartedly, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I will. I'll miss my Commander, the cops' cop, and I'll also miss my great, good friend Sharon."

She pressed her lips together and swallowed. "Thank you." Her voice was low and rough.

"Take your time off. Get better and think about the job. If you choose to go, I'll respect that, but I want you to be sure." Provenza glanced over to the rest of the party, checking that they were all still occupied. "The guys are organizing a drive for sick days. There's going to be a dinner in a couple days and Kathy Tao and Patrice are going to make spaghetti and stink up the break room with marinara and garlic bread."

"Oh." She looked down, hair swinging over her face, but he could see the blush on her neck.

"Flynn and I will handle the paperwork." She clearly hadn't noticed the flyers they'd hung around the building, and the thought of getting one past Darth Raydor pleased him slightly. "And by that, I mean _I_ will handle the paperwork, and Flynn will complain."

Sharon laughed quietly. "Thank you."

"Of course. You'd do it for us. It's a two-way street. Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Seriously think about your options. You'd be missed, and I'd be stuck with Flynn and Sykes. And _all_ the paperwork," he added. He didn't want to sound too serious and bring the mood down, but she'd also grown on him. Even if she did retire, she'd still be around, he knew. Flynn and Rusty would both be in the building, and besides that, most retired cops he knew never fully got out of the business. They kept tabs on their old squads, old perps, old partners. He liked her, though he'd never admit it. He wanted her to be more than a sticky-note tab in his life.

"Deal. I'll take your arguments into consideration."

He nodded. "Fair enough." He glanced over to the party across the room. "Should we start breaking it up and sending everyone home?"

"Oh, yes. I am ready to go back to bed." She was tired, despite her nap. The day had held more excitement- mental and physical- than she'd had in weeks, and she could feel herself flagging again. Despite her earlier threats, Rusty would likely be getting off easy that night. She reached out her hand, and he pulled her up. "Let's go."

* * *

Rusty opened the door quietly, mail in one hand. He had come upstairs with Sharon and Andy, dropped off his bag, and gone back to the lobby to get their mail. Andy had been pulling things out of the fridge for dinner, and Sharon had settled on the sofa with her laptop. She didn't have any work, so Rusty assumed she was reading more about heart transplants. It was her new favorite subject, not that he blamed her. It made perfect sense.

He kicked his shoes off and began sorting the mail as he walked towards the kitchen. _Bill, bill, bill, junk, card, card, bill, junk, coupons, envelope_. He pulled the manila envelope to the top and looked at it before recognizing the sender and detouring to the living room.

His mother had fallen asleep sitting up. Her head was tilted back against the top of the sofa, and her hands still rested on her laptop. Despite her protests that she was doing fine, he could tell she wasn't, not completely, not yet. Rusty set the mail down, then lifted her computer from her lap, closing it and setting it on the coffee table. He didn't think he could move her without her waking up, so he grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa and tucked it around her.

A minute later, he joined Andy in the kitchen with the mail. "She's out cold," he said as he dropped into a bar stool.

"I figured."

"What's for dinner?"

"Salmon, green beans, and I was thinking we could try that mashed cauliflower she's been on about?"

"Okay." Rusty got up again and went to rummage through the pantry. The dinner selection was fine, but he was going to eat something with actual carbs, too. He pulled a loaf of bread out of the pantry and got the corresponding knife. "Guess what came in the mail today?"

"What?"

"I think it's the wedding photos."

"Yeah?" Andy turned back to look at him. "Did you open them?"

"No, I thought Mom would want to. But I kind of want to look."

"Go for it, kid. I want to see them, too."

Rusty put his bread in the toaster and grabbed the envelope, then opened it gently. "Oh, these are way better than her last ones!"

Andy laughed. "She actually showed you those? Even I haven't seen them."

"No, Emily and Ricky and I went looking last Christmas. They were in her storage unit. We were putting the Christmas stuff back, and Emily found the box. I mean, I know fashion's changed, but. . . " he grimaced.

"It would have been-" Andy had to count backward in his head. "Eighty-one, I think, so big hair and a lot of tulle? Princess Di?"

"And a bunch of lace, yeah." Rusty held the photos carefully and laid them out over the breakfast bar. "These are really nice." There were different sizes of all of the photos, both staged and candid shots. He lifted up one by the edges and showed it to Andy. "I think this is my favorite." It was inside the cathedral, after the guests had left. Sharon and Andy stood in the center of the front row, with the squad, Andrea, and Patrice lined up behind them. Rusty and Ricky were to the left of their mother, and Emily and Nicole stood on Andy's side. Nicole hadn't met either of Rusty's siblings before the rehearsal dinner, and she had clearly felt a little out-of-place with the squad and the Raydors. It hadn't been long though, until she and Emily began bonding over ballet. Emily had offered to babysit Nicole's stepsons when she flew out for her mother's heart transplant.

 _"I'm planning to come back here whenever she gets a heart. I mean, I know it's not like I can really do anything, but I'd like to be here. I have some time off stored up, and if it happens soon-ish, I'll be on summer break anyways."_

 _"You dance, right?"_

 _"Mm, yes. With the American Ballet Theater."_

 _"Oh!" Nicole flushed slightly. Her dad had said Sharon's daughter danced, but never mentioned where. Nicole had assumed she was with a local company somewhere, a smaller city ballet. "The national ballet."_

 _Emily rolled her eyes, smiling. "That makes me sound way cooler than I really am."_

 _"Don't underestimate yourself." Her dad had often told her the same thing. "The boys are taking basic ballet now. They both like it so far."_

 _"Oh really?"_

 _"Yeah, just started a couple years ago. They're seven and nine now."_

 _"When I'm back, I'd love to meet them. If you don't mind, that is."_

 _"They'd love that."_

 _"Maybe I could sneak in a lesson or two." Emily raised her eyebrow. Much like her mother did, Nicole realized._

 _"Only if you let me take you out for lunch."_

 _"Oh, absolutely. I would sell my soul for some good girl time, especially when it involves food."_

Andy shuffled through the photos until he found the one Rusty like in the right size. "Why do you put this in the frame on her nightstand?" It currently held a photo of the five of them at the Christmas party the year before.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. She'll like it." Andy turned back to the stove. "And you need all the kudos points you can get." He could hear Rusty's groan as the boy left the kitchen, and Andy smiled to himself.

Phillip Stroh was finally in jail and the wounds he'd inflicted could begin to heal.


	12. Arms

_**TIL- you might not have a pulse if you have an LVAD. What.**_

 _ **Sorry about the wait. Classes and work vommed all over my schedule. I've also gone back and made some minor grammatical and clarity edits in previous chapters. If I've missed something, feel free to let me know. Thanks (:**_

* * *

 _I never thought that / You would be the one to hold my heart /_ _But you came around_

 _And you knocked me off the ground from the start /_ _You put your arms around me_

 _And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go /_ _You put your arms around me and I'm home_

 _-Christina Perri_

* * *

"Ugh, it's so early. . ." Sharon reached over and dragged Andy's pillow away from him and pulled it over her face.

He slapped the snooze on his alarm clock and pushed himself up on his elbows. "It's five-forty-five, babe."

"As I said," she mumbled through the pillow. "Early."

"We're always up by six." He poked her side gently, and she groaned at him and slapped his hand away.

He laughed softly and climbed out of bed. It always took her a few minutes to pull together the will to leave her warm spot in the bed. He padded to the bathroom and started his routine. By the time he was lathering his face to shave, Sharon was at his side. She bumped her hip into his and reached past him to soak her washcloth in hot water. He liked how they got ready together in the mornings. It was an easy, calm start to their days, and he had gotten used to sharing a sink and mirror again. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she worked the soap into the washcloth. He finished shaving and went back to the bedroom to get his shirt and tie, then leaned against the doorframe as he buttoned his shirt. She had just finished with her moisturizer, and wiped the extra lotion on her hands off on her arms, then turned to her make-up. He knew she didn't have any big plans for the day, but still preferred to at least put her mascara and eyeliner on. He didn't really understand it, but it seemed like a comfort mechanism, so he didn't question it.

She passed Andy again, and pulled on the end of his tie as he worked on the knot. It slipped in his fingers and tangled in his palm.

"Hey!"

She smirked at him, and went to the dresser. He liked her stay-at-home attire. She wore black leggings and a variety of casual shirts that he never knew she possessed. The current selection was probably one of Ricky's that had been left behind. It was overlarge and from REI, giving it a distinctly NoCal flavor that Sharon didn't possess.

They walked out to the kitchen together and Sharon started a pot of coffee. Andy got his travel mug out and set it on the counter. He passed her again en route to the fridge, and briefly tangled their fingers again. He had always liked touching her, even before he'd nearly lost her. She was his harbor; he touched her and docked briefly, before heading back out into the ocean of people that were Los Angeles.

They were comfortably quiet, until Andy was ready to leave. Sharon walked him to the door, and leaned against it as he gathered his wallet, bag, and sidearm.

"I'll be back to pick you up about one for your appointment?" He confirmed.

"Sounds good. Say hi to everyone for me?"

"I will. Love you."

She kissed him and closed the door quietly behind him. Rusty was still asleep, and she was thinking of cooking breakfast for the two of them. Andy hadn't eaten. He was more a coffee-and-go kind of man.

She pulled the well-loved Joy of Cooking off the shelf and began flipping through it.

She was grateful to be home. It had been a little over week since her release, a few days since Stroh's capture. She couldn't imagine remaining in the hospital. Even during her first days home, she'd started feeling better, more like herself. With any luck, she'd be cleared to drive at her appointment in the afternoon, and then life would return to almost normal. As normal as it could be with a one-hour distance limit tethering her to the hospital.

She made a note to call her parents later. Once again, the Nth year running, she'd missed Christmas with her family. Emily and Ricky had both been in LA, of course, but the rest of her family, her parents and siblings were out in Park City at the condo there.

Rusty was up about half an hour after Andy left. They had finally had their discussion the day after he shot Stroh, and it had gone on for over an hour.

They had talked about his motivations, well-intentioned, and actions, wrong, and his thought process the entire way through. He'd finally gotten annoyed enough to ask her what she would have done. She had been waiting for that question. It had kept her up at night, and she had in turn kept Andy up as they discussed it.

She told him that she'd never know exactly what she would have done. She wasn't there, didn't see what he saw. He was getting ready to defend himself again, but she interrupted. He was her child, and she wanted to shield him from the violence that had brought him to her, and, ultimately, she expected to have done the same as he had. The only true difference was that she was a trained professional and he was not, that he was there and she was not.

Rusty had been slightly skittish around her since then. Sharon wasn't too concerned. He was still processing what had happened at the marina, and the aftermath of it. She suspected he was still trying to work through her illness, too. He was talking to Dr. Joe, and he'd come to her when he was ready.

* * *

Andy flipped through the stack of paperwork on his desk. There was all the work they usually had, the stuff he hadn't finished before the Stroh case had blown open, and then all the papers from the Stroh case itself. Andy had finished most of his part the previous afternoon, and he'd brought in Sharon's medical leave paperwork. He didn't think she'd notice it was gone, and if she did, well, he didn't particularly care. She didn't need to worry about it.

He had just started when his phone rang. "Yeah, Flynn," he barked into the phone. The number wasn't local, let alone one he recognized.

"Dad?"

 _"Charlie?"_ He nearly dropped his cell in shock.

Provenza looked up from his paperwork, eyes narrowing. Andy shrugged at him. He had no idea why his son was calling. He hadn't heard from his son in years. Nicole gave her father regular updates, and Andy sent cards on the holidays and birthdays, but he hadn't actually talked to Charlie since Chief Johnson had been around.

"Charlie. . . Are you okay? What-?" Andy rose and hurried out of the murder room. He was going to need a minute of privacy no matter which way the conversation went.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm okay."

Andy stopped and leaned against the wall. "What-?"

"I, uh, Nic was talking to me, and I thought I should give you a ring."

Andy didn't know what to say. He racked his memory, trying to thing of anything he'd done that would warrant the first call in years. "Uh. . ."

"She said you got married again."

"Yeah, son. I sent you a-" he waved his hand trying to remember the name for the thing. It wasn't an invitation, it was something else. "Did you get it?" He'd been hoping Charlie would at least write back when he'd sent it, but that had been a couple months ago.

"Yeah, I did. Congrats and all, but I guess I wasn't really calling about that."

"No?"

"Nah." Andy could hear city noises in the background. Charlie was living in New York City. He knew that from the address Nicole had given him. Beyond that, he didn't know much. Nic had said there was a serious girlfriend, but she didn't mention a name or Charlie's job. "You on lunch?"

"Yeah. Did I call at an okay time?" He suddenly sounded concerned.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just doing paperwork."

"With. . . Prosceno?"

"Provenza, yeah."

There was a long silence, then Charlie spoke again. "Your, uh, your wife, her name's Sharon?"

"Yeah."

"Nic said she's a cop, too?"

"Yeah." Andy closed his eyes, trying to remember what he'd written to Charlie over the years. "Did I ever tell you about Internal Affairs here?"

"The rat squad?" Charlie laughed, and Andy savored the sound. "Yeah, you did."

"What do you remember?"

Charlie paused, and car horns filled the silence. "'A bunch of assholes lead around by the Wicked Witch of the West.' I think that's what you said. I told Danny about it."

"Danny?" _Was that the girlfriend?_ "Danielle?"

There was a loud laugh. "Aw, hell no. Daniel Beard, he's my partner." There was a sudden silence.

 _Partner?_ Andy blinked. Last he'd known, Charlie was dating a woman. Partner. " _Partner?!"_ He shouted.

"Sergeant Danny Beard, NYPD," Charlie said slowly. "Yeah, I didn't want Nic to tell you that one over the phone."

"Charlie!" He hadn't wanted his kids to follow in his footsteps. It was a hard job, a dangerous job. He sighed heavily. "And where do you sit in the department?"

"Little below him."

"Say it."

"Detective Second Class Charles Flynn."

Andy smiled to himself. "I'm proud of you, kid. I know I said I didn't want either of you kids in this job, but I'm proud of you, regardless." A thought crossed his mind. "What unit?"

"Emergency Services."

"So that's like. . . what?" There wasn't a unit by that name in Los Angeles.

"We do hostage stuff, SWAT, and work with FDNY."

"Are you careful?"

"Yeah, Dad. As much as I can be."

"Okay." He understood that. One could use all the caution in the world and still be hurt on the job. It was a risk everyone understood when they signed on.

"Okay. So what's this all got to do with IA?" Charlie was back to the matter at hand.

Andy grimaced. "Yeah, so, the witch."

"The witch." A pause, and then "God, Dad, your wife, she's _that_ witch?"

"Yeah, yeah. She moved outta IA a few years back and took over Major Crimes."

Charlie howled. "Dad! You got with the boss."

"Yeah, well. She's a good detective, nice lady."

"Nice?"

"Kind, beautiful, sharp as a whip. You'd like her." He was guessing.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I know this is going to be a big deal, so take your time to think about it." Andy didn't want to spring things on his son over the phone, but he also wanted to hear Charlie's voice for as long as he could. "But, uh, she's got a couple of kids, two from her last marriage and one adopted. I don't know if Nic told you."

"Oh. Nah, she didn't." Charlie's voice was expressionless.

"Thought you should know."

There was a long silence. "Are they cool?"

 _Cool?_ "They're good kids, if that's what you mean." A thought hit him. Kids. Charlie probably thought he really meant kids, little kids, thought Sharon was younger, like some of the women he'd dated around the last time he'd talked to his son. "They're your age, Char. Rusty, the one she adopted, is a little younger, but the other two are around you and Nic's ages. Sharon's uh, you can't tell her I said this, but she's older, than uh. . . she's sixty-four, if that's what you need to know."

Charlie laughed. "Geez, Dad, I hope you don't just blurt that out to everyone. She's not gonna stay married to you, if you do. But thanks," he added.

"What were you calling about?" Andy asked. Provenza's patience wasn't unlimited, and he'd probably come down the hall soon.

"Oh. Yeah, Nic told me that, uh, Sharon wasn't doing too great. She said I should call you."

They were both quiet. If Andy knew his daughter at all, she'd probably badgered Charlie into calling. She liked Sharon, he knew. She probably wanted Charlie to meet his stepmother before he missed her.

"Yeah," he said finally. "She's been pretty sick."

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"Me, too, Char. She, uh, she got this heart condition all of a sudden, and she's on the list for a transplant."

"Oh, Jesus fuck, that's bad, right?"

"Come on, Charlie, don't swear like that. Especially when you're in uniform."

"Da-aa, nobody here gives a shit. Every other word outta people's mouths here is garbage. Is there anything I can do, though? For you and Sharon, I mean." Charlie sounded hesitant.

Andy pushed his hand through his hair. All he'd ever hoped for was a chance to talk with his son again. All it had taken was his wife nearly dying. "Charlie, do you want to come out to LA?"

"What? Really?"

"You could come see Nic and your mom, Nic's boys. Come see me and meet Sharon, if you want. We could even fly you out here and put you up. At a hotel or whatever's comfortable." Andy tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"Um, I'd need some time to think about it, but. . . That'd be nice."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Dad. It's been a while." Charlie paused. "I think we both might of screwed up, but I wasn't helping things at all, and. . . It'd be good to see you. Meet this witchy wife you got. I got somebody you should meet, too."

"Who's that? Danielle?" he joked.

Charlie laughed. "Her name's Finley."

"Finley. . .?"

"Uh-uh, I'm not telling you that. You'll try to look her up like you did Nic's old boyfriends. She's a writer, though, I'll tell you that."

Andy made a mental note to ask Sharon if she knew of any authors named Finley-something. She read more than he did, a lot more.

A heavily accented voice came from Charlie's end of the call. "Hey, Flynn, you eva' gonna shut that yap?"

"Danny grew up in New York," Charlie muttered. "In case you couldn't tell."

Andy smiled. "I'll let you go, kid. It was good to hear from you."

"Yeah, same, Dad. You got my number now, so, uh, feel free to gimme a ring."

"I will."

"Okay. Bye, Dad."

"Talk to you later. Be safe."

"I will. Tell, uh, Sharon that I hope she gets better. She sounds like a good lady." Charlie ended the call before his father could form a response.

Andy lingered in the hall for a minute after he hung up. He finally slid his phone back into his pocket and returned to his new desk next to Provenza.

Provenza dropped his pen on the desk. "Was that who I think it was? Charlie?"

"Charlie Flynn, NYPD."

Provenza frowned, trying to recall a case that involved New York. The name was surely a coincidence. However, the only national case that came to mind was Stroh's, and it didn't involve New York. "No, he didn't."

"Yeah. Like father, like son."

Provenza laughed. "Somehow I'm not surprised. Why'd he call?"

Andy picked up the forms he'd been working on. "Sharon."

"She's never met him, has she?" Provenza sounded perplexed.

"No, but I guess Nic told Charlie about her, and he called to say he hopes she gets better."

"What?"

Andy scoffed. "I know. It's crazy. Sharon's bringing the whole family together. Nic's really opened up to me since she met Sharon, Sandra's been a _hell_ of a lot nicer to me lately, now Charlie calls?" He shook his head.

"Your ex knows Sharon?"

"Yeah, uh, the two of them got introduced by Nic a couple years ago. I didn't tell you? Well, they really hit it off." Andy groaned. "God only knows why." For whatever reason, the women in his life had made it a point to get together regularly, usually for lunch and nails or shopping, sometimes a walk through Venice Beach. Neither Nic, Sandra, nor Sharon would ever divulge the details, and he'd given up trying to pry them out of any of the three.

"So what'd he say?"

Andy looked down at his paperwork, and began filling it out. "Damnedest thing." He signed off on the file and slapped it shut. "Said he might fly out to see us all."

"Wow."

"Yeah." Andy looked at the paperwork on his desk again. "I can hardly believe it."

Provenza nodded, staying quiet for once. "You're a lucky bastard, Flynn. Don't screw it up."

Andy raised his coffee mug up. "I'm trying not to."

* * *

Sharon waited by the trunk of the car as her husband circled around to meet her. He took her arm and they began walking across the parking lot. She had changed into jeans and a blouse before leaving for her appointment, but Andy hadn't noticed the heels. They clacked across the pavement, and he looked down at them and smiled.

"Lucky shoes?"

She glanced at her feet, then him. "I'm not that superstitious."

"You're not superstitious," he drawled. "Maybe a little-stitious?"

She snorted, trying to conceal a smile. "I just happen to like these. Gavin got them for my birthday once."

"Your _birthday?_ You're telling me I have to compete with another man on your birthday?"

She rolled her eyes and smiled at him. "I guess you'll just have to come up with something better than Gavin." She laughed. The shoes weren't truly very expensive. They were lavender suede, and Gavin, for all of his efforts, hadn't been able to find a similar shoe by any of his favorite designers.

She fell silent as they entered the medical complex and then her doctor's office. There were several cardiologists and pulmonologists sharing the space, but Sharon was just seeing Dr. Torres, as the clinician who had initially diagnosed her had transferred her care to the surgeon. Andy attempted to keep up the casual conversation, but could tell she was getting lost in thought. They checked in and took a pair of seats against the wall. Andy contemplated telling her about his son's call, but decided to put it off, sensing that she wasn't really in the mood. She leaned against him, nervously twisting her rings around her finger.

They didn't wait long before getting called back and brought to an exam room after Sharon's weight and height were checked. A nurse took her's blood pressure, then drew some blood before leaving them in the room. Less than ten minutes later, Dr. Torres knocked and came in. Andy noticed Sharon grip the edges of the exam table tightly, the only sign of her increasing anxiety. He reached over and peeled her fingers off the vinyl, holding her hand in his.

"How are you, Doc?"

"Good, thanks. How are you two doing?"

Andy simply nodded as Sharon spoke.

"I'm glad to be home."

"Yeah, I bet. Do you feel pretty good at home? It's not too hard to get around or anything?"

"No. That's been fine. I feel. . . more at ease than in the hospital, too."

"Good, good." Torres flipped through her chart quickly. "I'd like to do a follow-up echocardiogram today, and if it looks good and things continue to go well, you won't need one for another six months."

"Okay." Sharon knew the drill and began unbuttoning her blouse. As a patrol officer, she'd changed in and out of uniform in a shared locker room, and lost most of her self-consciousness as a result. She'd gained it again as she moved up the ranks. Now, after the last couple months, the rookie feeling had returned.

"I want to look at your driveline site today and check it out. Most people do get driveline infections at some point, so make sure you keep on top of the dressing changes and call me if you see any redness at home. We talked about GI bleeding before we discharged you, remember?"

She nodded.

"Have you noticed any signs of that?"

"No."

"Good." He fiddled with the dials on the ultrasound machine, adjusting its settings. "Any other problems?"

Andy kept quiet, waiting on his wife. He figured she'd mention everything she needed to, and he didn't want to take away any more of her autonomy.

"I have been having some issues with lightheadedness every once in a while."

Torres looked over. "When?"

"When I stand up, moving around. Not all the time, just occasionally."

He paged through her chart again. "Okay. Your pressure was a little low here. You've never had problems with high blood pressure, right?"

"Correct."

"Okay. I think we'll lower the diuretic dose a little then. We can look it over when we're done with this." He snapped on a pair of gloves and picked up the bottle of sono-gel. "Little cold."

She laid back on the table, resting one hand behind her head, and holding Andy's with the other.

Torres kept his eyes on the screen as he moved his wand around. "How is everything else going?"

"Much better."

He spared a glance for his patient. "Yeah?"

"Work has calmed down considerably. They closed a case that was open for. . ." She looked to Andy. "Ten years?"

"Yep. Since Daniels was in the squad, I think. Maybe."

"Are you taking your time off?" He rarely had such non-compliant patients. As harsh as it sounded, he hoped that her near-death-experience would encourage her to slow down. The silence following his question belied his idea. "Sharon?"

"I am now, yes. I had a couple things to finish up, so I went in for a day earlier this week."

"Desk duty, I hope?" He tried to keep his tone casual.

"Yes." It was a short answer, but he didn't think she'd say anything else.

"I'll implore that you don't do that again. You're on sick leave for a reason." He fought a smile as his patient rolled her eyes. He returned his attention to the doppler. "Almost done."

Andy leaned forward to look at the doctor's screen. He had seen several of the echos but still had no idea what he was actually seeing. There was a fluttering, lopsided shape in the middle, which he assumed was his wife's heart. Ironically, it looked like a shamrock, if there could be doors opening and slamming shut between the leaves. A series of greyscale lines waved along the bottom of the screen.

"Looking good," Torres finally said. He began cleaning the wand off and passed Sharon a cloth for the gel on her skin. "I want to go over you med list with you again and make a couple adjustments, based off what where're seeing. We'll try and fix that low pressure, too. If anything comes up in your lab work, I'll give you a call and we'll make some more changes." He held out a hand to stop Sharon from sitting up. "Hold on, sorry. I want to look at the driveline and check your incisions."

She laid back again, but stayed propped up on her elbows.

"Any redness, itching, or pain?"

"No."

"Any trouble with the dressings?"

She shook her head. "Andy's getting rather good at it." She tilted her head back and smiled at her husband.

"Good, good."

Sharon kept her gaze on the ceiling as Torres gently worked her over. She wasn't uncomfortable with him, far from it. She was more uncomfortable with herself. It didn't seem to bother Andy at all, but the new scarring bothered her for a reason she couldn't truly describe. She didn't find the scars particularly ugly, in a traditional sense, but they reminded her of what had been perhaps one of the lowest points in her life.

Brenda had told her how Major Crimes became her whole life. The blonde had then acknowledged that perhaps that was because she'd allowed it in DC, in Atlanta, the CIA, too. She had warned Sharon about it in her roundabout way, and Sharon had more or less brushed it off.

She should have realized then that she was in too deep. Feeling completely and thoroughly in control was just a facade over a slippery slope, and she knew that. Had known it at one point, at least. In retrospect, she could see that continuing to work had been bordering on insane. She'd spent much of her time in the hospital thinking about what she would be missing if she were gone. Her children succeeding in their lives, her siblings, Andy, and the squad. She'd gotten a little sentimental then and thought about potential grandchildren. She had always harbored the idea of spoiling her children's children. It was a warm and fuzzy thought, and one she'd never vocalized. Her children had their own prerogatives, and she respected that.

She'd prioritized her job beyond all else. She could see that now. Maybe she'd go back, maybe she'd finally bite the bullet and retire. If-

"Sharon?"

She blinked and brought herself back to the moment. "Sorry?"

"You can sit up now. We'll go over your medications, and you'll be good to go."

She pushed herself back up and began buttoning her shirt back up, still not entirely paying attention.

"Oh, one more question."

"Yes?" Sharon jerked her wandering attention back.

"You've been losing weight since you've started seeing me, and I wanted to see if you had any ideas why."

Of all the questions she had expected, that wasn't one. "I hadn't noticed," she finally admitted.

Andy shrugged at her. "You haven't been eating much, babe."

She nodded, mostly to herself. "I haven't been out running, either, and I usually do a few miles every morning. It's just been rather busy lately, and I guess I just haven't made much time for myself."

"Okay." Torres looked down at his chart again and made a note. _Stress + muscle atrophy (?)_ "Make some time, get your husband in the kitchen."

"I can do that," Andy rumbled. "We've got plenty of time now."

"Good. I'm just checking on that because decreased appetite is something we have to take seriously after heart surgery." His patient and her husband both looked surprised. "I know, it seems weird, but it's important, because it can be a sign of heart failure."

"Oh."

"Yeah. So take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will."

Andy reached out to shake the doctor's hand. "I'll make sure she does."

* * *

Sharon sat at the breakfast bar, peeling parsnips. Andy was making soup and bread for dinner, taking his promise to feed her seriously.

"Earth to Sharon." She had been quiet since he'd come home. That wasn't unusual in and of itself, but the gravitas was.

"I've just been thinking."

"About what?"

She sighed and swiped at the parsnip again. "I mentioned something to Lieutenant Provenza the other day. What if I retired?"

"You'd have a lot more free time." Provenza had pulled Andy aside that morning and brought it up. The old man said she sounded serious but unsure.

"Mm. I have not idea what I'd fill it with."

"You could visit your kids."

"After the transplant, yes. I just don't know what I'd do with myself for hours on end around here."

"It sounds like you've made up your mind already."

She snorted faintly. "You know me too well." She rolled the turnip across the counter to him. "I don't feel. . . finished, I suppose. I don't have any outstanding cases, Stroh is behind bars again, I've gotten my promotion. I don't have any unfinished business, but it feels that way."

"The job's a calling," he replied simply. "Sometimes that's all there is to it. I know that's not the answer you're looking for, but that's what I got."

"Thank you." She circled into the kitchen and slipped a knife out of the wooden block, then took over the pile of carrots and began chopping them. "I joined in 1980, thirty-eight years this spring."

"You never told me that."

She shrugged as the knife clacked against the chopping block. "I hadn't really thought about it until recently."

"You got your seventh stripe a couple years ago, then? While you were with us?" For every five years, officers received a white chevron that was to be placed on the left forearm of their uniform.

"Yes."

"Happy belated congratulations." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. As much as she enjoyed celebrating everyone else's achievements and occasions, she was rather quiet about her own. He could feel her smile before he pulled back.

"I feel like I may have another stripe in me." She dumped the carrots into the pot. "I'll have to tooth and nail to get back from this medical leave, but I think I can do it."

"You can. I think they might saddle you with desk duty for a bit, but-" he grinned at her, trying to lighten the mood. "What comes around, goes around."

She laughed quietly. "Keep talking, and I'll tell Provenza to chain you back to that desk."

Andy began working on the chicken breasts. He'd pick around it. He wasn't observant enough that chicken broth would bother him. Vegetarianism was more of a health-conscious choice than anything. "Thirty-eight years?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Yes."

"I think the longest serving cop in LAPD history had fifty-four, and the next longest was forty-some. You're almost there," he said thoughtfully.

She smacked him with the wooden spoon. "Andrew Flynn!"

He took the spoon and stirred the soup. "Yeah?" He kissed her again. "I am amazed by your service and dedication, babe, totally unrelated to your age.

"Mmm."

The timer on the oven beeped, and Andy leaned over to switch it off. "Bread's done." He'd made it with the bread machine so it could rise while he was at work, and then taken it out to bake in a loaf pan. The loaf slid easily out of the pan, and he sliced the end piece off. It was still steaming as he offered it to Sharon. "Want some while it's hot?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she took it and broke off a piece. "You're trying a little too hard."

"I can never try too hard when it comes to you." He reached out for her free hand and swung it between them. "Sickness and health, it doesn't matter. And if you want to get back into the job, I'll help you there. Hell, I could probably stand to join you on your morning runs when you feel up to it. If you want, that is."

"I'd like that. I think we'll both be starting slow, _very_ slow."

"That seems to be our style."

Sharon's jaw dropped, and he laughed for a moment before she joined in. It felt good to hear her laughing, to feel the warmth in the kitchen with her in his arms. Andy closed his eyes and pulled her into him. He'd made a lot of mistake in his life, sure, but at the moment, everything was falling into place.

"I got something to tell you."

"Mm?" The noise vibrated on his chest.

"Charlie called me. He wants to meet you."

* * *

 _ **A/N- This isn't an exam week, so hopefully not so long before the next chapter. No promises, though, I'm sorry. Reviews are love, and I love y'all. (;**_


	13. Say It, Just Say It

**a/n- just wanted to say, thanks for all the love. I threw in a reference to the infamous Shandy/vegetable post on tumblr. I can't find it at the moment (damn mobile haha), so I can't properly credit it, but BLESS ALL who contributed to that post.**

* * *

 _But your eyes, they sold you out again /_ _They always do, so say it /_ _Just say it /_ _I will take your side._

 _-The Mowglis_

* * *

"Are you ready?"

Sharon pulled at her blouse, then retucked it into her skirt, adjusting everything nervously. "Almost," she called.

She leaned in towards the mirror again and flicked a strand of hair back.

"Sharon?"

"Coming, coming."

She twisted the skirt again, then shrugged into her jacket and readjusted it.

"Sharon?"

She jumped slightly. Andy had moved to the doorway of the bathroom and was watching her. He had his hands in his pockets, but looked ready to leave.

"You look great."

She wrinkled her nose almost impulsively.

"Shar. . ." He stepped into the room. "Really."

"Nothing fits right, and-" She tapped the LVAD monitor clipped to her skirt waistband, then raised both hands to reveal the modified holster that held the batteries for it and sighed in frustration.

"Okay, and. . . ?"

She groaned. "Andy."

"Sharon, their respect for you hasn't changed. You know that. You saw that at the dinner they held last month, and all the times they've dropped by here."

"I know. I know. It's just different seeing them here. How do I go in to work and look them in the eye and not think about everything they went through for me? How can Julio look at me and not think about-?" She didn't want to say it. "How did you do it after your heart attack?"

He walked into the bathroom and settled his hands on her hips. "One step at a time. You go in, let them say how happy they are that you're back, and get down to business. You don't have to bring it up."

"I want to tell them how much what they've done for me- us- means."

"Sweetheart, you've already told them. They know."

She smoothed his tie reflexively and switched subjects. "How do we move on? It just feels. . . overwhelming. The bad things that happened in those rooms. . . it's all I can think about."

"What about all the good things?"

"There're those," she agreed slowly. "But right now, the negatives, they're. . ." She shivered and tried to brush the feeling off.

"You're seeing behavioral health to get cleared today, right?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Hey, you talked to Rusty about the same kind of thing. Don't knock it. And you've been there before," he added. "Why the change of faith?"

"I feel like I've seen every doctor and therapist under the sun in the last year between the LAPD and the heart trouble." Her words lacked any real bitterness, sounding flat to Andy's ears.

"Sharon." He tilted her chin up. "What's wrong?"

She leaned into his chest, resting her arms between them. "I'm tired. Not with work," she amended. She had closed the door on retirement, at least for now. Her work was her being, and she wasn't ready to part with it. "Just tired of being sick and stuck at home, I think. I'm hoping I'll get over it once we get back into the swing of things and it all goes back to normal."

"Could you do me a favor?" He had an idea, but he wasn't a shrink. "Talk whoever's clearing you about this." Behavioral health had a whole cohort of mental health specialists, admittedly some better than others. There was one, a woman, that he knew Sharon had talked to after Taylor's death. Not much had come of the appointment, but his wife had mentioned liking the woman. He hoped she would be the one assigned to Sharon's case, as there was already a rapport.

"Why?" She looked up in honest confusion.

He paused, choosing his words thoughtfully. "I'm worried about you."

She still looked perplexed, but she nodded. "Okay." She adjusted her blazer again, then kissed his cheek. "We should leave or we'll be late. Are you driving?"

* * *

"So, Lieutenant Provenza, bring me up to speed." Sharon crossed her arms and leaned back on her appropriated desk. Andrea wasn't there, but someone still needed to upset Provenza's desktop order. It was early afternoon, now. Her appointments downstairs, then upstairs with Chief Pope had taken the morning.

Provenza cleared his throat and set his crossword down just behind her to keep her from further encroaching on his space. "We had a body turn up in- I hate to say it- Griffith Park, no ID, too decomposed for us to take a photo and run it. Morales is working on fingerprints, but he's not sure if he'll get anything usable."

"And why is this a major crime?"

"Well," Mike cut in. "Height and approximate time of death match when a Senator Alan Duncan went missing." He looked over his computer monitor and glasses both. "Did you hear about that?"

The senator's disappearance had been all over the news. He was a local official, elected to the state congress. Nothing had shown up over the last few days, as far as the news was aware, and speculation that he'd run off with a mistress was running rampant. "Yes."

"The news was right about him vanishing."

"For once," Provenza added.

"Missing persons is officially running his case, but they have nothing, really, and we're thinking our John Doe might be him."

"Just based on time of death?"

"Senator Duncan was known to frequent the park, ma'am." Sanchez leaned back in his chair.

Sharon groaned. "That damn park."

Provenza snorted in amusement."Yeah, that's about it. Morales took a look at a photo of the guy and said it "looks likely."" He made air quotes. "So we're not formally linking it yet, but. . ."

"Fair enough." She walked closer to the board to examine the map they'd hung on it. "I take it there were no witnesses and no video?" Violence in the park all too often left unsolved. There was too much area, too many exits.

"That'd make it too easy," Provenza tapped his newspaper on the desk. "Two sets of footprints at the scene, though, so we're thinking two perps. Guy wasn't killed where he was found," he added. "Neither set was his size."

Sharon fingered her collarbone though the high collar of her blouse. "You have a time of death. Are you checking all the exit gate videos around that time?"

"Yeah. The only problem is that if he wasn't killed there, the perp may have moved him. . . even hours afterward."

"Any idea how before the body was found?"

Amy pointed to a photo pinned to the board. "Dax Fails found the body. He's a trail runner, says he runs in the park every morning. The park closes at ten, Fails was there a little after six. It rained yesterday evening, but the body was dry."

"So we have an eight-hour window. Do you think Fails is involved at all?"

Julio shook his head. "No, ma'am. He's got a good alibi for the night, and he doesn't seem the type."

"He passed out when he found the body," Andy clarified. "His running buddy confirmed that. Uh, Carter Conklin. He was a little behind Fails." Andy had been working the case, too, but refused to take it home with him, leaving Sharon in the dark. She hadn't been pleased, but she understood and knew she'd be caught up when she returned.

"And that's as far as we've gotten, Commander. We're just going over the video footage from the park entrances, since we have no official ID." Provenza nudged a stack of files closer to her, trying to take his desk back.

"Very well. Has anyone briefed Chief Mason?" She glanced the room and raised her eyebrows as her lieutenants suddenly found their shoes interesting. "Alright." She stood. "Keep working with what you've got. Maybe start looking into the Senator and see if he's been up to to anything controversial?"

Amy barked out a laugh and Provenza smirked at her.

"So cynical for one so young, Sykes."

Sharon decided not to intervene, and began making her way to Mason's office. Andy caught her in the hall.

"How's it going?"

"Not bad." They walked slowly, shoulders brushing. "Cleared my exams, so I'm really back. They're keeping me on desk duty for another couple weeks, and then I have to meet with them again and we'll reassess."

"They want to clear you for field work?" Andy was surprised. He knew Torres had cleared her for physical work. The doc had told her to start slow, and make her way back at her own pace. She was working on it, but frustrated at how far she'd been set back.

"They said they could clear me today, with some provisions, but I said I wasn't ready."

"I think you can probably run laps around half the force." He wrapped his arm over her shoulders. "Outshoot them all, too. Why don't you want clearance?"

"I don't want to overdo it again," she said simply. "That's what got me in trouble last time. If I take it easy at work, I can focus harder on physical therapy."

He blinked in surprise. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"That's not what I was expecting." She didn't usually buck against rulings in her favor. He had realized, years ago, that she was foxy enough to take whatever small gains she was given and then use them as a lever for a grander purpose. "I'm glad, though."

"Why is that?"

"It's nice not having to worry about you out in the field and all."

"Ah, there it is."

"What?" He waited as she walked over to the electronic ID lock on the wall and threw his hands in the air.

She swiped her card and turned to smile at him. "The loving concern." She stepped back to him and pulled his tie again before heading into the Chief's office.

He caught a perky _good morning, Annette!_ before the door swung shut. He stood in the hall for a minute, then whipped his phone out of his pocket.

 _I_ _take back my concern._ _Clearly_ _you feel fine if you_ _'_ _re going to get the last word in like that. :p_

Rusty had been teaching him about emojis. Sharon's kids had started a group message with Andy, and a second one with Andy _and_ Sharon, and they were both awash with smiling faces, vomiting faces, vegetables, and something Rusty called _memes_. Andy had no idea what the latter was, and Sharon was only able to tell him it meant _same_ in French.

 _;)_ was the response seconds later. She must have had a minute to herself while Mason was ending a call.

He snorted and made his way back to the murder room.

Sharon watched him go, as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. A moment later, Annette waved her back into Mason's office.

"Commander." He walked around his desk and shook her hand warmly. "I'm glad you're back."

"Glad I'm back, or glad Provenza isn't in charge anymore?" She raised a brow and settled herself in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"Both, honestly." Mason sat in the chair next to her, to her surprise. "Provenza does a good job, but without any of your tact."

"That's why I was transferred," she reminded him.

"I wasn't around him much back then. I've never been subject to the full Monty before." He waved his hand towards his desk. "I swear, he filled out a tree's worth of paperwork while you were gone and then left it for me after he knew I left for the night."

Sharon smirked at him. "Welcome to the club, Chief."

"Do I at least have you back for a while, Commander?" He had gotten her request for a month off from from Lieutenant Flynn, and had little contact with her beyond that. He didn't want to bother her, so he'd merely checked in with her now-husband every week or so, and the reports had always been similar. _She_ _'_ _s doing better and still planning on coming back. We haven_ _'_ _t talked about retirement._ Flynn could be a close-mouthed bastard when he wanted to be.

"Barring any complications, yes. I've found I'm not quite ready to let go." She appraised him carefully. "Have there been any issues raised in my absence? I haven't quite dried out my sick leave, so there shouldn't've been complications with my unavailability unless someone had concerns."

Her cool shrewdness routinely surprised him. She could be warm enough to melt Provenza's heart one minute, and then have ice-water veins a moment later.

"No. I was just wondering." He doubted she believed him, but he hadn't tendered any potential replacements for her yet, choosing to trust Flynn.

"Mmm."

"You said in your email you'd need time off again at some point, but you didn't know when?"

"Unfortunately for all of us, they can't plan when to do a transplant." She pursed her lips. "I can't say when, or how long. It may be next week or next year, I don't know. Right now, I would like to return again after my recovery, but that all depends on a great many variables."

Mason looked down at his hands and was silent for a long moment. "I truly am glad you're doing better."

She softened again. "Me, too. It's not what I was expecting to be doing, but. . ." She waved a hand. "If you'd come up to me ten years ago and told me where I am be now I think I would have sent you to have your head examined. I wouldn't have believed any of it."

Mason chuckled. "Really? None of it?"

"No." She thumbed the file in her lap. "I expected to finish out my career in Internal Affairs, maybe advancing a little more before I retired. I certainly didn't think I'd have another child, let alone remarry."

" _We plan and God laughs?_ Is that the saying?" He wasn't religious at all, but the words sounded familiar.

She snorted. "Yes. It is." She shook her head again, then sobered and passed him her file. "I suppose you've heard of a Senator Alan Duncan?"

Mason sighed. "He's your vic?"

"Well, Morales hasn't confirmed yet, but it looks likely."

"Just what we need," Mason muttered. He leaned over his desk to grab a pen and legal pad. "What have you got so far?"

It only took Sharon a few minutes to recap what Provenza had just told her. At the end of it, Mason shook his head again and wished her luck as they stood and shook hands.

"Sharon?"

She turned her attention back to him. He didn't usually call her by name. "Yes, Chief?"

"Watch your back."

"Excuse me?" She frowned at the statement.

"The board of commissioners is on the warpath in regards to Stroh."

She took a step closer to him. "What do you mean?"

He clasped his hands together before speaking. "There's a ten-year-old case that no lawyer in the DA's office wants to touch, let alone a judge. The perp was brought down by a combined action between police and a civilian who is both the lead investigator's adopted son and the primary witness."

"You're telling me they don't like that this case was _closed?_ " Mason winced as her voice dropped a step. He'd never been across a desk from her while she was the head of FID, and now he was glad of it.

"Look, I don't agree with it, and I think they're overstepping by trying to get into this. I'm just telling you."

"Why are they focussing on this?"

"They're expecting it to be a huge ordeal, I think. National news."

Sharon sighed in exasperation. "He's an international criminal. Of course it'll be national news. He'll be tried here then extradited to a dozen other places unless other DAs strike deals to not have to deal with him."

"Yeah, and they're looking at all the negative press that could come out of this."

"This just needs to be over. God. It just keeps going."

He'd never heard her swear before. "There's a way to side step this."

She shot him a dark look. "My retirement?"

"I think it's safe to assume an internal investigation into your division's conduct will emerge from this. If you retire, you're excluded from it."

"They're going to investigate the last. . . what seven years? More if they go back to when Chief Johnson first met Stroh?"

Chief Johnson again. The woman was everywhere. Her presence already haunted the halls, and she was still alive. Mason sighed. "Look, I'm not saying I agree. I'm not even sure if anything will come of it. I just wanted to warn you." He didn't need- or want- the ruins of two righteous women's careers weighing on him before he even made deputy chief. The press would try to crucify both Chief Johnson and Commander Raydor before the trial even began.

After a pause, she finally nodded. "Thank you, Leo."

* * *

Rusty closed his eyes briefly when he walked into the condo. He could smell steamed broccoli, and that usually meant quinoa was lurking somewhere nearby. He was doing his best not to complain about it. It wouldn't do any good, and he still felt bad about shooting Stroh. Quinoa wasn't a terrible penance to pay. He also suspected Sharon was tiring of her cardiologist-approved diet. It wasn't much different from usual, but before, she used to take him out semi-regularly for burgers or Chinese or Mexican takeout. He had teased her about it, how she broke the rules. She would laugh, and tell him that even saints weren't perfect.

It had been almost two weeks since the shooting, and Rusty had talked about it to Dr. Joe at every session. The older man was nothing but patient and understanding, but Rusty was starting to wonder if the doctor was getting tired of hearing about Stroh, too. Rusty was certainly tired of talking about it, but it was still the second-most important thing on his mind. Sharon was first, of course. He'd talked about his mom at every session, too.

 _"_ _I think she_ _'_ _s really mad at me._ _"_

 _"_ _What makes you think that?_ _"_ _Dr. Joe tapped the chess clock and leaned back._

 _"_ _Well, I shot someone._ _"_

 _"_ _Do you want to talk about that?_ _"_

 _Rusty moaned._ _"No. I_ _'_ _ve talked about it to, like, three different cops already, and then Lieutenant Provenza and the whole squad chewed me out._ _"_ _He moved his rook aggressively and hit the clock._

 _"_ _Your mom hasn_ _'_ _t talked to you about it yet?_ _"_ _Dr. Joe had_ _subtly started replacing_ the Captain _with_ Sharon _and then_ your mom _._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m surprised, to be honest._ _"_

 _"_ _Well, she sort of did._ _"_

 _"_ _Sort of? She doesn_ _'_ _t seem to be the kind of person to do things by halves._ _"_

 _"_ _Well, it was her first day back at work and she wasn_ _'_ _t even supposed to be back, so she was super tired and she let it go. We talked that night, but it was mostly just_ _'_ _I_ _'_ _m really upset that you_ _disobeyed_ _me and nearly got yourself killed and shot somebody_ _'_ _and_ _then_ _'_ _but I_ _'_ _m glad you were there because_ _Lieutenant_ _Provenza is just as pigheaded as you are._ _'"_

 _"_ _That_ _'_ _s all?_ _"_ _He pushed a_ _pawn_ _forward._

 _Rusty sighed as he leaned over the board._ _"We talked for, like, an hour about trust and what that means, and why there_ _'_ _s a process for carrying a weapon, and gun regulations and then she got political about it, and then we talked about how_ I _felt about the whole thing, and then how I felt about everything in general, and then she had to take her evening meds and so that was the end of it."_

 _"_ _That sounds like a lot._ _"_

 _"_ _I get where she_ _'s coming from though. I did screw up, and I mean, I had the right motivation, but so do a bunch of the people Andrea prosecutes, honestly._ _" Rusty drew back from the game._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m not falling for that gambit. You play that all the time, and you always get me with it._ _"_ _He jumped his knight._

 _"_ _How are you doing with '_ _everything in general'_ _? I heard your mom was out on sick leave. That_ _'_ _s hard when a parent is i_ _ll_ _._ _"_ _He hadn_ _'_ _t heard much, just that it was serious. Rusty had cancelled all of his appointments over the previous two months, so all his information had come through the grapevine and the few emails Rusty had sent when apologizing for another cancellation. Sharon hadn_ _'_ _t been in contact either, which was unusual._

 _Rusty sat back again, not b_ _othering_ _to pause the clock._ _"_ _Yeah. It_ _'_ _s been crazy._ _"_

 _"_ _How so?_ _"_ _Dr. Joe switched the clock off, sensing a long conversation was starting._

 _"She had the flu, like half the city did, right? And it was taking her forever to get over it, and she just passed out at work, and they were like,_ oh, you have this heart infection from the flu, so like, don't stress out, take time off, go see this doctor." _Rusty rolled his eyes._ _"_ _But, it_ _'_ _s Sharon, and they were in the middle of this big case, and it was, like, two weeks before her wedding, so of course she didn_ _'_ _t take time off._ _"_

 _The older man sat quietly, nodding and making small noises at the appropriate times._

 _"_ _And like, she went out on Mulholland in the middle of the night and almost passed out again, so they took her back to the hospital and gave her this. . . thing, uh-_ _"_ _Rusty continued, gesticulating throughout his account of the last several weeks._ _"_ _And that_ _'_ _s how we got to the whole thing about shooting Stroh._ _"_ _He finished and reached out to right the queen he_ _'_ _d tipped over._ _"_ _I thought it would feel better._ _"_

 _"_ _Feel better?_ _"_

 _"_ _With Stroh. I thought there_ _'_ _d be some closure there, but there isn_ _'_ _t. I thought it would feel good, even, to finally get this guy who_ _'_ _s been, like terrorizing all these people, and screwing with my life, and Sharon_ _'_ _s and Brenda_ _'_ _s, but it didn_ _'_ _t. It felt. . . dirty._ _"_

 _"_ _Violence often does. There_ _'s no right answer to this, Rusty. I_ _'_ _m sorry."_

* * *

"Mom? Andy? I'm home." He hung his jacket up, kicked off his shoes, and dropped his bag next to Sharon's desk. It thudded against the floor loudly, and he winced. He had stopped by the school library and checked out a few books on cardiology. He suspected most of the information would go over his head, but he wanted to try to understand.

"Rusty?" Sharon called. "Could you come here and stir the quinoa? I'm a little tied up."

He padded into the kitchen and glanced at her and Andy as he passed. She was changing the batteries on her heart thing. Rusty could never quite get the order of the letters right. It was L-V-A-P. Or T, maybe. One of the letters that sounded like E. He walked over to the stovetop and lifted the lid to stir the quinoa. There was broccoli and carrots in the pan next to it, but the oven was on, too. He bent down to look in, and whipped around to look at his mother.

"You got chicken tenders?"

She didn't look up. "Check again."

He frowned and looked back into the oven. On the back of the tray, not visible until he was even with the oven window, were steak fries. "You're the best, Mom. Oh my God, thank you."

There was a brief pause as she and Andy finished up and she passed the dead batteries to him before turning to face Rusty. "Think of it as a peace offering."

"Huh?"

"I think our stalemate deserves to be put to rest." She watched as confusion and embarrassment crossed his face. "Come here." She met him halfway, wrapping her arms around him. "What's done is done, and whether or not I completely approve is beside the point, now."

"I'm still sorry."

"I know," she said quietly. "I can't fault your quick thinking, though. I think, in the moment, I was angry, but I've had time to think on it, and. . . you acted as best you knew with your training. I've been within the force and PSB so long, I think I forget that not everyone knows all of the rules and methods and training that the LAPD relies on."

"You wrote the rules, didn't you?" He could rest his chin on her head when she was barefoot.

"Some of them, yes. That still doesn't mean I can hold you to the same standards I hold, say, Amy or Andy to. I forgot."

"I still didn't stay in the car."

"And that is the part that I mean when I say this is all done and finished." She untucked herself from him and picked up the oven mitt. "It happened, we learned from it, and now we need to move on."

He stood back as she turned off the stove and oven and began assembling dinner as Andy set the table in the next room. When she got the baking pan out, he moved in to grab a couple fries off it.

"Ah." She made a small noise.

"Come on, Mom. They're best-"

She held out her hand, and he dropped the fries, only to watch in surprise as she popped the smaller one into her mouth and offered him the other fry again.

"-when they're hot, I know." She smirked at him and turned back to the task at hand. "I'm tired of this, too," she whispered. "Low sodium takes all the fun out of food."

Rusty glanced back over his shoulder. Andy had disappeared into the other room. "What if I come by work tomorrow and take you out to lunch?" She looked skeptical, so he upped his ante. "How about Andrea and you and me." The lawyer had- in his opinion- excellent taste. She described her preferences to be like that of a five year old, but Rusty appreciated it.

"Are you trying to destroy everyone's plausible deniability?"

He grinned at her. "Maybe. At least this way, it'll be three on one when Andy finds out, because you tell him _eeeeverything_ _._ _"_

"I'll find out what?"

Rusty jumped and turned around. "That Sharon lets me spoil my appetite." He grabbed another fry off the pan and bit into it as Sharon rolled her eyes at her husband.

Andy snorted. "I think it would be cheaper to pay room and board than try and feed you here, kid."

"Yeah, well, just wait until the next family reunion," Rusty replied. "You'll have me and Ricky and Charlie and Mark." Nicole and Charlie had both agreed to join in on the next familial get together, whether it was a holiday or for Sharon, and to bring their respective other halves.

"Emily is the worst of all of them." Sharon deliberately made eye-contact with Andy as she took a fry. "Want one?"

Andy looked at her. "I thought those were for the kid."

"They were," Rusty said. "Until she decided to share."

The older man snorted. "In that case, yes, I will." He reached between Rusty and Sharon and took a fry for himself. "Needling the kid takes precedence over diets."

"Hey!"

"Hey is for horses," Sharon replied sweetly.

"Yeah, and fries aren't for witches _or_ flying monkeys." Rusty slipped by her to go and wash his hands. She caught the wink as he passed.

She looked up to find Andy watching her as he thoughtfully chewed on another fry. "I hadn't actually thought about the logistics of feeding a small army," he said. "Your kids, my kids, Nicole's kids, the squad."

"Let alone fitting them all in here," Sharon laughed. "Maybe we should think about buying a house again."

"Nah, what we should do is have the kids rent a house for the week they're here. They can all stay there, and we can can keep the condo for ourselves. That takes care of the space issue _and_ some of the food issues, since they'd have their own kitchen."

"Oh, now that is brilliant."

"I have been known to have my moments," he said wryly.

She hummed, trying to contain a smile.

"You don't have anything to say?"

"Mmno."

"Huh." He set his pot back on the stovetop and cupped her face with his hands. "I have a solution to that." He kissed her, nipping her lip as he went. Her face was flushed when he pulled back and he grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes and pulled him back by his tie.

There was a surprised squawk a minute later as Rusty returned and spun around, back to the table.

"How unfortunate," Sharon said quietly. "I suppose we'll have to finish this later."

Andy chuckled. "I'll hold you to it."

They began collecting the various dishes to take out to the table when Andy spoke again.

"Kid gets his uncanny ability to walk in on us from you."

"How so?" She sounded perplexed.

"I seem to remember you walking in on both Gabriel and Daniels _and_ Howard and the Chief. On multiple occasions."

Sharon wrinkled her nose. "I'd forgotten about that."

He laughed. "Karma's a bitch."

She swept past him and winked. "Karmais a _witch_."

* * *

 _ **A/N - I realized about halfway though I'd forgotten about Julio's promotion. I couldn't fit it in like I wanted here, but rest assured, we'll get there next time. I'm planning on tempering the fluff a little next chapter, too, and skipping ahead a bit. Reviews are love (:**_


	14. Collide

_**Milquetoast-on-acid. Thanks for that Tumblr post that kind of kicked me in the ass to get moving haha this chapter didn't seem like it would be hard to write, and then I just couldn't find the words I wanted.**_

 _ **Just so y'all know, there's a depression/mental health/medication conversation near the end of this chapter. I didn't get super deep, but it's okay if you wanna skip it. Love ya.**_

* * *

 _Although I'm not perfect, I feel perfect in your eyes,_

 _Turn the lights on, honey, I don't really wanna hide, not tonight._

 _-Rachel Platten_

* * *

"Commander."

"Chief."

She looked drawn and more like her old FID-self than she had lately, but Pope didn't mention it. It wasn't something she'd want to hear, and he was sure she knew it.

He settled for something a little smoother. "How is everything going?"

"Not bad. I'm sorry you caught flak over that case with the Senator."

Will shook his head. "Don't worry about it. As soon as politicians get involved, they have to push the blame onto someone else. I can handle it. There's no real basis for it, anyways. They're just talking about how we have "poor inter-departmental communications, which led to significant delays in finding the killer and disrupted Congress." It's all bluffing. The Senate never gets anything done on time, but there was a convenient excuse this time."

"Better you than me," Sharon said. "I think we'll close this new one without overtime. We rolled out late last night and went through the night, but I think Andrea will have a signed deal by tomorrow morning, so we should be clocking out after that."

Will poured himself a cup of coffee, then a second to pass to Sharon. "Thank you. The mayor wants to cut the budget again, so cutting overtime will help balance that. He wants us to cut numbers by 350 positions, but I don't think that's rational. We can't take officers off the street and expect crime rates to hold steady."

"That's almost five percent of personnel." Sharon frowned and took a seat in front of the big desk. "Why are you telling me this, Chief?"

He sighed. "You're technically part of the top brass now, Commander," he said, emphasizing her title. "A chief can consult his leaders."

Sharon raised a brow. She'd rarely ever been consulted in the past, and it was always related to her position as the women's coordinator. "What are you asking?"

"I don't like the cut. What do you think?"

She sipped her coffee quietly, pondering. "I presume you'd be cutting new officers?"

"We could put out the offer of a retirement bonus, see if anyone would retire early, then start cutting from the bottom, yes."

"I feel like that's cutting the legs of this organization off. We need the younger ones to work their way up and create careers. If we get rid of them, you'll be in trouble down the road when people retire and there's no one to replace them."

"That's what I was thinking, too. Most of our best officers now are career cops. Ann McGinnis, Ryan Ellis, your whole team. . . They worked their ways up from the bottom, and that's how it's always been done. I don't think we can afford to change, but I just don't know where we're going to trim the budget."

"Why are you asking me?" she repeated.

"Honestly? I know that you're going to tell me your real opinion and not bullshit around. You've never been a politician. Not when you were in FID, not now. You play by the rules and your honor, and I value that."

"What's changed? You never asked what I thought before."

"I have to play by the rules, too, and there's a chain of command and a circle of appropriate advisors, and you have to have a star to get in. You just had the bars until last fall."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on who's fault that was. "What are our other large spending areas?"

"Didn't you get the email?"

"What email?"

"The one from the financial meeting last month- Oh, right, last month. Sorry, I think they skipped you because you were still out on leave." He sighed. He'd have to have a word with Johannsen about sending the financial minutes out to _everyone_ involved in the committee. If Will was going to involve the commanders in the brass' decisions, they needed to be in communication, whether or not they were present at the meetings. "I have a paper copy around here somewhere." He rummaged through his desk, opening and closing the drawers. "Here." He pulled out a thick packet and passed it to her. "Flip to page. . . twenty-two."

It was vehicular costs. She skimmed the pages, seeing notes about fleet maintenance, old car sales, new car estimates, and gas costs.

"Gas and new cars."

"Yeah. Unfortunately, a lot of our fleet, both patrol cars and unmarked are coming up on mandatory replacement this year. They're too old or almost to 175,000 miles, been repaired a few too many times."

"And so this year you're budgeting to start replacing them."

"Yeah. And it's a huge cost, as you can imagine."

"What's the next largest cost?" She didn't look up from the packet as she slid her glasses out of her pocket.

"Benefits and pensions, but there's nothing to do about that. HR is looking into better insurance plans, but that's all we can do."

"Just let me know if you find one," she muttered as she continued to read.

It took Will a moment to realize that she'd made a small joke, and he snorted. It was both well- and under-played, as usual. "If you have any thoughts, let me know."

She looked up. "What if we switched to hybrid and electric cars?"

"What?"

"One of your biggest recurrent costs is gas, followed by new cars. Priuses are cheap, relatively. Buzz was talking about it the other day. He says it's been a good car, low maintenance with high milage. And what about electric cars for the patrols with small circuits and traffic control? Start-stop driving burns through gas. Even bike patrols. I was reading something about implementing bike teams in urban areas, since traffic can be so bad."

Will blinked, leaning back in his chair. It wasn't a bad idea, if he could get the committee to wrap their heads around it. There was some macho component to the Challengers and the few remaining Crown Vics that everyone loved, but functionality was a greater concern than appearance.

"Chief?"

"That's not a bad idea," he finally replied. "It might take a little while for people to come around to it, but. . . it's smart." It was typical Raydor, in all honesty. Brilliant, but hard to like. "Would you want to bring it up at the next committee meeting?"

She looked surprised, and she was quiet for a long minute before agreeing. "March?"

"Yeah, the twenty-first."

"Alright. I think I can get something together by then. Who's going to be there?"

It wasn't until they were almost finished drafting a plan for that she changed subjects.

"Chief, I think it's time for me to back out of being the Women's Coordinator."

"Okay, what?" He sputtered. Of all the topics to end on, that hadn't been one he'd expected. "If this is about having more responsibilities as a commander-"

"If you'll let me finish?"

He backed down and nodded. "Go ahead."

"I have spent nearly two decades as the women's coordinator. I think it was my only saving grace as Captain of Internal Affairs." She smirked at him. "Regardless, it is an active position. I believe I could do it along with my duties as Commander, but my health issues are taking a large part of my time." She could tell when understanding dawned on Will Pope. "It has been my honor, more so than even leading Major Crimes, but I think it's time for me to step down and let a younger woman take charge. This way, there could be an easier transition, less abrupt, and I'll be around to advise, if need be."

"I understand. I take it you have someone in mind?" Raydor would never willingly put anything on the table unless she had a good hand and a card up her sleeve.

"Anne McGinnis."

"McGinnis?" Of course that was who she'd pick. The commander was a wolfhound and wanted her replacement to be a bulldog, leaving him with two smart, toothy dogs in his inner circle: Raydor and McGinnis together. The idea was already giving him a headache. Not that McGinnis was a bad choice for the position, far from it.

"Is there a problem, Chief?"

"No." He ran his hand over his head. "Nope. I'd expect no one else from you, Commander. She's a strong leader, good teammate. I think she'd do well."

"You mean you think she'll keep you hopping."

"That too." He decided to be frank with her. "You want more women in my circle."

She laughed. "I might have phrased it a little differently, but yes. If I have an in with my rank, then I can give Anne another foot up by passing my Coordinator's position on to her. I have seniority and rank, but she just has rank and her wits. The world is changing, Chief, and the more diversity you can get, the better set you'll be the next election regardless of whether or not a new mayor comes on." She smiled wolfishly. "It's in your own best interest."

They had a better rapport than they'd had even a few years ago, but he still didn't like being played, even when she was right. "Dismissed, Commander."

She smiled again and took her leave. As soon as she was gone, he dropped back into his chair. "Christ."

* * *

Sharon shut her binder with a snap and dropped it onto the nightstand with a sigh. Andy stuck his head around the doorway with a quizzical expression on his face. He mumbled something to her around his mouthful of toothpaste and foam, but she didn't understand, so he held up a finger and ducked back into the bathroom. Sharon settled into bed as he finished up in the other room.

He flicked off the lights and walked over to the bed. "What's the long sigh about?"

"Mm." She snuggled up against his chest once he'd laid down. "Nothing, really. I told the Chief I'd look over some budget recommendations for him."

"What?"

"Pope said that he can officially ask my opinion on things. Apparently, it just takes a silver star to get into the boys' club."

"You're going to advise him?" He raised a hand to stroke her hair, sweeping the thick locks back over her ear with a repetitive motion.

She nodded. "I'm going to drop the women's coordinator position, though." She looked up at him when his hand froze. "What?"

"I thought you really liked doing that." He was frowning, uncertain.

"I do." She rolled over to see his face better, half on top of him. "But I think it's time to pass the torch on to someone a little younger."

"Not Sykes. . ." Sykes was a good cop, would maybe one day be a great cop, but Andy couldn't imagine her in Sharon's old position. Sykes was still young, with a great deal to learn, despite her multifaceted experience.

She chuckled and kissed him. "No, not Amy. Anne."

His wife's easy way with first names was still bemusing to him. Even in her days with FID, she'd frequently called her team by their first names. It had annoyed the hell out of Provenza, and Andy had been surprised that she'd known them all. "Anne?"

"Commander McGinnis. She'd be formidable, but I think. . . she'd take great care of the women on the force."

"They're her family, you mean." After the death of McGinnis' own family, Andy had heard she'd poured her soul into the LAPD. He hadn't met her until a few years ago, but she'd reminded him of a younger version of Sharon, the lieutenant he remembered writing him up, over and over.

"Yes."

"I think she'll be good. More than good. She reminds me of you," he added.

"Thank you." She resettled herself and sighed luxuriously. "It'll be nice to pull back a little."

"Can you say that again on tape? No one's going to believe Darth Raydor is ready to loosen the reins."

"Hmm." She sounded half asleep. "It's a good thing I've changed my name, then. Darth Flynn doesn't sound nearly so fearsome."

"And that's precisely why you left Raydor as your professional name, honey."

"Well, I haven't retired yet. There's still time."

"Adding Flynn to your name will counteract your star, as far as the Vatican is concerned."

She laughed quietly. "I'll do it to spite him."

He thought she was asleep when she spoke again.

"Maybe we should look at houses again." The words were slow and mumbled into his chest. For a moment, he thought he'd misheard her.

"Yeah?"

"Mm. I'll have free time again. It'd be nice to have a garden."

"A garden?" _Of all the things to want. . ._

"When Emily was little, we had one. Well, we had a patch in the community gardens at St. Joe's."

"You never mentioned that." Even now, he occasionally found new pieces of his wife's history, and they never ceased to surprise him.

"I'd almost forgotten. It was a long time ago. I think we had. . . tomatoes and squash, maybe. We had sugar snap peas. Mm, I remember them. I used to go in the evenings, when it cooled down, and it was calming. It was just me, her, and the plants. So quiet."

"Do you want another garden?" Another house, really. He had given up on that idea after the mold fiasco. The condo had worked for them just fine, and then life had just gotten busy.

"I think I'd like one with you." She shifted again. "It'd be nice, don't you think, to have a yard for the boys to run around in?"

"Do you really want to get into this whole real estate mess again?"

"No, but. . . I think the outcome would be worth it. You?"

"I'm in if you're in."

"Honey," she mumbled. "Really. Don't just say it to agree. I'm happy here, too. With you."

"I'm not just agreeing with you. Since when have I done that?" He could feel her laugh vibrate across his chest. "No, I'd like that. It'd be nice to have the boys over more often." Nicole had brought her step-sons over twice now, and Sharon had clearly been delighted. Andy had been content to sit back and watch for the most part. He had more history with Trevor and Noah, and they were having fun getting to know their newest and least experienced grandmother. "To be honest, I think it'd work well to have a yard. That way, we wouldn't have to take them to a park to get outside."

"Mm. What's wrong with the park?" Sharon shifted against him again, then readjusted around her LVAD.

"I was just thinking that it'll be easier on you. You might not be up for much after your transplant."

She was quiet, but he knew she wasn't asleep; she felt tense against him. She took a deep breath and sighed, relaxing again. "That's smart. I hadn't thought about that."

"This time we won't ask Provenza for realtor advice."

"What if we ask Gavin?"

"Baker?"

"Mm. He just moved not too long ago, so he might have some ideas."

"Sure."

"Remind me to text him in the morning."

"I will."

He was almost asleep, caught somewhere between wakefulness and sleep when Sharon spoke again. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, and for a moment he thought he was dreaming.

"Honey?"

"Yeah?" He cleared his throat and tried again. "What is it?"

"I. . ."

Her fingers were twisting the sheet next to him, and he could feel her nerves twinging with the fabric.

"I want you to know something," she said.

"You can tell me anything."

"Don't tell Provenza, okay? I know he's your best friend, but can this just stay between us?"

He pushed himself half-upright. She was starting to worry him. "Babe. . .?" Some things stayed out of Provenza's earshot, just as Andy knew some things Patrice said stayed solely with the lieutenant. Sharon knew that, and she'd never requested Andy's silence before.

"Andy?"

"Yeah, yeah, this can stay with us. What is it? What's wrong?"

She sighed, agitated. "I just wanted to tell you that my psychiatrist thinks I should look into medication." The words ran together, and she hoped Andy had caught it. She didn't want to repeat it. She hadn't even explicitly told him she was seeing a therapist again. He probably knew, since she wasn't being particularly secretive about it. Once a week, she left the murder room in the afternoon to go downstairs to behavioral health. She had plenty of other, normal, work-related appointments as well, but Andy knew her schedule fairly well.

"Oh." He sounded slightly surprised. "Okay."

She opened her eyes and watched him. It was hard to make out his expression in the darkness. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Why? You sound surprised."

She shrugged. "I thought it would be a big deal to you."

"It's a big deal to you," he replied. "Why is that?"

"It just. . . " she readjusted again. "It seems like an admittance of guilt."

"Guilt?"

"Not guilt exactly, but. . . fault. I feel as though I'm admitting something is wrong."

"Sharon." He sat up and pulled her with him. "Hey. There's nothing guilty or wrong about anti-depressants. That's what we're talking about, right?"

"Mm."

"Okay. It's not any kind of black mark to start anti-depressants. Sometimes, you just need an extra hand up, and that's what they are." He wasn't sure if he was saying the right thing or not. "It's like your calcium chews in the kitchen. You take calcium to help your bones, right?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"Anti-depressants are like calcium for your brain, in my opinion. You just need a little vitamin boost, no big deal."

She snorted. "Okay." She rested her head on him. "Thank you."

"Babe, I'm here for you. No need to thank me. Better or worse."

"Still."

He rubbed her shoulder with his thumb, thinking. "You know, I'm proud of you. Talking to a shrink and starting any kind of meds takes a lot of courage." She was quiet, so he continued, rambling slightly. "Back when I first got sober, I didn't see a shrink for the longest time. There was a lot of talk on the force about how behavioral health was a department for rooks and pansies. A lot of stigma associated with psychology. I had this mindset about how I could do everything by myself and I didn't need help. Probably played a hand in my marriage going down the drain."

Sharon reached over to lace her fingers with his, and he squeezed her hand.

"I started going to AA and talking to other people and realized that maybe it wasn't garbage. That didn't make me go to the shrink, though. I got about an inch away from making an appointment, and then I'd talk myself out of it, and that went on for a couple years."

"What changed your mind?" She asked quietly. Andy wasn't talkative about his AA meetings and occasional meetings with counselors, but he didn't stay silent, either. There was also a note placed in his file when he first saw the behavioral health department of his own volition. She knew about it from her time in FID.

"You aren't going to believe me, but you did."

"What? You started going well before Chief Johnson retired."

"Yeah, I know. It was a long time ago."

She couldn't remember anything in particular. He'd been in and out of her office, of course, but nothing stuck out in her memory.

"You used to smoke," he said.

She groaned. "Just occasionally, and I haven't at all in nearly a decade. Emily came home one night reeking of cigarettes and she said the same thing as you."

He laughed. "She would. But I remember this once, because you were out on the fire escape when we were back at Parker Center. I can't remember why I went outside, but I did, and you were out there smoking. I thought you were gonna light your hair on fire."

* * *

 _"_ _Lieutenant Raydor._ _"_ _If he was surprised, she was_ _more so. She whipped around to face him, eyes wide, cigarette in hand. He didn_ _'_ _t know she smoked at all. Provenza would have been thrilled. The witch_ _was human_ _after all_ _. She_ _'_ _d let her hair down, and the wild mess was blowing in the wind near her smoke._ _"Watch your hair."_

 _She rolled her eyes, took one last draw, and snubbed her cigarette out._ _"_ _What?_ _" Her lower lip stuck out slightly, and she exhaled a small cloud._ _"_ _Come to watch the show?_ _"_

 _"_ _What show?_ _"_ _He was honestly confused. He was just trying to avoid Taylor, bypassing the man_ _'_ _s bullpen via the fire escape stairs. The indoor stairs went right past Vice, and Andy knew Taylor was waiting to light into him about a case from the previous week._

 _"_ _Like you don_ _'_ _t know,_ _"_ _she snarled._

 _He contemplated going back and risking his luck on the indoor stairs. The_ _lieutenant was usually calm and collected. He_ _'_ _d never seen her like this._

 _"Look, LT, I'm sorry, I'll just-" he pointed back down the stairs he'd come up. It wasn't worth it to pick a fight with her, and he just wanted to get away. He could take Raydor when she was pissed at him over some rule, but he wasn_ _'_ _t ready to deal with tears._

 _"_ _And go tell the whole LAPD you caught me out here crying over someone I shot?_ _Sure_ _. Go have your fun._ _"_

 _He frowned._ _"_ _What? You-?_ _"_

 _"_ _Yes, Detective. I shot someone. I have been known to venture onto the streets on_ _occasion_ _. It doesn_ _'_ _t always end well. He's going to be fine, through and through his calf, but. . ._ _"_

 _He couldn_ _'_ _t imagine her actually shooting_ _someone_ _. Not that he didn_ _'_ _t think she had the skill, but she seemed more the type to shoot as a last_ _resort_ _. She pushed her hair out of her face, bangs slipping through her fingers, and then he saw it as her collar slipped sideways._

 _She was in uniform, but her tie was gone and her top few buttons were undone, revealing a black undershirt and dark bruises on her chest._

 _"_ _You got shot?_ _"_

 _She grasped her shirt, pulling it together._ _"_ _Well, I_ _'_ _m here, not a hospital, aren_ _'_ _t I? I'm fine._ _"_

 _It was his turn to roll his eyes._ _"_ _I know what it looks like when someone shoots you in the vest, okay? I_ _'_ _m not a complete idiot._ _"_

 _"_ _Could've_ _fooled me._ _Look, Flynn, not everyone just bounces back all the time. Some of us need a hand up._ _"_

 _It took him a moment to understand before he_ _realized_ _the landing was just outside the shrink department._ _"_ _Oh._ _"_

 _"_ _Yes,_ _'_ _oh,_ _'"_ _she growled._ _"It doesn_ _'_ _t make me any less of a cop. It doesn_ _'_ _t make you better or stronger than me. I_ _'_ _ve just got a lot going on right now._ _"_

 _He raised his hands._ _"_ _Okay. I_ _'_ _m sorry, didn_ _'_ _t mean to intrude. I_ _'_ _ll just-_ _"_ _he pointed down the stairs again._ _"_ _Sorry._ _"_ _He started down the stairs, then turned back to her. She had one hand pinning her hair down and looked as though she might be contemplating a second cigarette._ _"_ _Uh, ice helps, and a hot pad will help a lot if you wait a day or two._ _"_

 _The corner of her_ _mouth_ _quirked up briefly._ _"_ _Thank you._ _"_

 _He nodded and hurried away, boots_ _clattering_ _on metal. Sharon Raydor, the Wicked Witch, was seeing a shrink. Counseling was mandatory after any kind of major_ _incident, but_ _that she was going was oddly comforting._

 _A realization_ _suddenly_ _hit him. He didn_ _'_ _t_ _think less of her for admitting to it. If anything, he admired her for being open._

* * *

"I didn't know that."

"Yeah, well, I never really told anyone," he replied.

"It's different, isn't it? Going for yourself versus going because it's mandatory?"

"It is."

"Thank you for telling me. It's a lot to take in, but I think I'm getting there, and I feel better." She sighed and slid back down under the covers. "Can we be done for tonight, though? I'm getting tired."

"Yeah." He stretched, then settled his arm over her waist. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

 _ **The bike thing I think is actually implemented in LA IRL. I was reading about it ages ago since my city is thinking of something similar. 3 Thank you all for sticking with.**_


	15. Get It

_**A/N- vague mention of child abuse right at the beginning, re: Rusty**_

* * *

 _At one AM, oh yeah, god damn, god damn._

 _-Matt and Kim_

* * *

"Hey, kid."

Rusty jolted awake to find a shadowy figure looming over him. It was dark, but a sliver of light beamed in from the hallway. Years ago, waking to someone in his room would have been terrifying, usually signaling one of his mother's boyfriends readying to knock him around or his mother herself jumping ship with him again, but he'd finally moved past that reflexive fear with Sharon, his Sharon-by-choice. Even half-asleep, he knew he was safe with her, and by extension, Andy.

"Whaa?" Rusty pushed himself up on his elbows. It _was_ Andy in the room, crouching down next to the bed.

"Sharon's not feeling too good, so we're going to head over to the hospital."

"Huh?" He was awake. "What's wrong?"

Andy reached over and smoothed the comforter, pushing Rusty back down. "It doesn't seem like anything too bad. Her doc told her to go in whenever she gets sick, though, remember?"

"Yeah." As the last vestiges of sleep dropped away, Rusty felt less panicked than he had a moment before. Andy wouldn't have bothered to wake him up nicely if it was a true emergency. "You're leaving now? What time is it?"

"It's almost three." Andy snorted as Rusty groaned and dropped back onto his pillow. "I feel the same way. Get some sleep, and I'll call you in the morning."

"No." Rusty sat up again and flipped his covers back. "I'll come with."

"Are you sure?" Tomorrow- today- was a Thursday, so Rusty was supposed to have work. Major Crimes wasn't on call, so Andy had been hoping they'd have a chance to sleep in.

"Yeah." Rusty stood up and stretched, arms behind his head. "I'll be ready to go in, like, five minutes. Is that okay?"

"Sure. It'll probably take us a little bit longer."

"Okay." Rusty lifted an old tee shirt off the desk chair and surreptitiously smelled it. If he got dressed fast enough, he could make coffee for himself and Andy before they left.

Andy pretended not to notice the sniff test, but let the room with a smile. He slipped back into his room and flipped the overhead light on. The bedside lamp was on, but Sharon still blinked in the sudden brightness.

"Ugh." She wrinkled her nose.

"Sorry, babe."

"It's okay." She'd gone to bed in a low-necked tee and cotton pajama pants. In the few minutes he'd been gone, she had pulled a sweater over top of it and slipped on a pair of flats.

"If it wasn't for the pants, that'd be a pretty great outfit." It was almost a casual outfit, something she'd wear on their weekends off. Aside from the flowery pajamas, that was.

She smiled wanly. "Florals are in during the spring, haven't you heard?" She leaned back against the headboard and watched him get dressed. "You told Rusty?"

"Yeah, he wants to come with."

"Mmm."

"That's what I thought." He could tell what her hums meant without watching her expression. He pulled his jeans up over his boxers, not bothering to tuck his shirt in. "Are you still doing okay?"

She nodded. "Mmhm. I think I'm even hungry, but I don't want to risk it." They'd called it an early night when she hadn't felt well after dinner. She'd been hoping she was just tired, that a good night's sleep would fix everything. Shortly after midnight, though, Andy had awoken when his wife lunged over him, making a wild grab for the trashcan on his side of the bed.

He had wanted to leave for the emergency room then, but she'd argued against it, knowing she'd likely be admitted and not wanting to be stuck in the hospital again. He'd let her win. If she wasn't feeling better in the morning, he knew she'd agree to go. Unfortunately for both of them, he'd spent the next few hours alternating between drowsing and rubbing Sharon's back as she was sick. They'd finally hit a lull about half an hour before, and decided to take advantage of it.

He was fairly certain she had one of the twenty-four-hour bugs that had a tendency to sweep through the PAB on occasion. One by one, the auxiliary staff on their floor had been calling in sick for a day or two and come back, reporting the same symptoms.

He offered her a hand, and pulled her upright. "What if I bring a sleeve of saltines? You could try them."

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, and nodded. "Okay. Can you get my water, too?"

"Yeah." He left her to collect her purse and the necessary sundries. When he got to the kitchen, he found Rusty pouring coffee into two travel mugs. "Thanks."

"I figure we'll need it." Rusty yawned as he screwed the lids on.

Andy pulled Sharon's water bottle out of the cabinet and filled it, then grabbed the saltines and dropped them in her purse. "Probably. It's going to be a long day, kid."

Rusty could hear the unspoken question. "I still wanna come."

"Okay."

"Hey, Mom." Rusty looked past Flynn.

"Good morning." Sharon smiled at him, then took her purse from Andy. "Are-"

"I'm sure I'm coming. I thought you two could read each other's minds. He just asked me." Rusty jerked his head at Andy.

"Your kid," Andy said.

"You signed the paperwork, honey. He's yours, too."

"Hey, I'm a legal adult," Rusty interjected as they walked out. He caught the look Sharon and Andy exchanged. "Enough with the Jedi mind tricks." He lead the way to the car, and took the driver's seat without thinking. Andy and his mom would probably sit in the back seat together.

Everyone was quiet on the drive. The radio played softly as orange street light rolled through the car in waves. Traffic was light at the early hour, so it didn't take too long to reach the hospital. Sharon and Andy had debated going to one of many urgent care centers, but ultimately decided that she'd more than likely end up at the hospital whether they went directly or not.

The emergency room was blessedly subdued as well, so Rusty and Sharon found seats along the wall as Andy began the registration process. They sat quietly for several minutes before Sharon hastily excused herself to the restroom. Rusty had noticed her clenching the chair arm before she left and he caught Andy's eye as the man returned.

The lieutenant jerked his head in the direction his wife had gone. "She okay?"

Rusty nodded. "I think so. I'm pretty sure she was going to throw up again."

Andy shot Rusty a look, and the kid shrugged at him.

"She would probably appreciate if you didn't bust into the women's bathroom looking for her. And I think she would have said something if she felt like something was really wrong."

"Fair enough." Andy took the chair Sharon had deserted and sent her a text before sliding the phone back into his pocket.

"Andy?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think they'll try to get her to stay in the transplant ward again? I know Dr. Torres wanted her to stay last time."

Andy sighed and sipped his coffee, thinking. "It'll probably depend a little on how well she gets over this."

"I read online that she's more likely to get sick now because her system is all stressed out and especially after a transplant because she'll have to take, um, immunosuppressors?"

"Immunosuppressants, yeah. You've been reading about this?" Andy knew he shouldn't be surprised, since Rusty had a mind like steel trap when he applied himself.

"I checked out some books from the library. A textbook and then a normal one. Most of it's over my head, but I think I get the general concepts. The internet helped a little."

Andy nodded, but his attention was pulled away as Sharon rejoined them.

"Okay?" He asked quietly.

"Mm." She reached over him, grabbing her purse from where it lay between him and Rusty. Both men watched her poke through its contents and eventually pull out a tin of Altoids. She sucked on a mint quietly as Andy and Rusty talked in the background. Unbeknownst to her, Rusty had switched subjects. He was talking about what Andrea had told him of her law school experience, something she'd heard before. She was drowsing against Andy's shoulder when the double doors at the back of the ER swung open again.

"Flynn?"

"C'mon babe, that's us." He pulled her to her feet and they walked back towards the doors.

"Sharon Flynn?"

"Yes, ma'am."

They followed the nurse in deep blue scrubs back through wide hallways and to a small room with a rolling glass door. The nurse guided them in and began collecting Sharon's history and vital signs as other people filtered in and out. Within several minutes, everyone was finished, someone had handed Sharon a pink kidney bowl, and a registrar slipped in with a plastic bracelet.

Sharon sighed, and the man smiled. "Yeah, I know. Not the best fashion statement. Can you tell me if the information is correct?"

"Of course."

"Sharon M. Flynn?"

"Yes."

"March 21st, 1953?" After her confirmation, he reached over to snap the bracelet on. "Happy early birthday, Sharon. No offense, but I hope I don't see you to say it day of."

She smiled faintly. "Me, too."

"Doc'll be in in a minute. Feel better." He slipped back out, swishing the curtain shut behind him.

Rusty lay down across the foot of the bed, head cradled by his arms. Sharon leaned forward over her own crossed legs and rubbed his back.

"Mom?"

"Mm?"

"Want me to text Em and Ricky?"

"Not now," she replied. "It's early, even in New York. Maybe later, once we've seen someone."

"Okay."

"Okay." She exchanged a smile with Andy. Rusty was half-asleep already. She continued gently running her nails over his back as Andy divested himself of his jacket and climbed onto the remaining bed-space behind her. "I could get used to this," she said quietly.

His hands settled on her hips. "Yeah?" He leaned forward so he could whisper without waking Rusty. "What about this do you like?"

"Hmm." She took a deep breath. "I like just sitting here with you. Nothing going on."

"I never knew you could be so easy to please. I can arrange for more sitting around."

"Is that so?" The smile was evident in her tone.

"Sure. And when we finally get around to the honeymoon, we can just sit around all day. No murders, no finance meetings, no kids. . ."

She chuckled and reached her free hand around to his. "I like the sound of that."

"Do you now, Mrs. Flynn?"

She laughed again and someone knocked on the doorframe before pushing the curtain aside just enough to step in.

"Sharon Flynn?" An older woman with a short afro stepped in and reached for the boxes of gloves on the wall. A teen followed her in, pushing a high, wheeled table with a laptop on it. "I'm Dr. Ellis, and this is Mallory, my scribe. How're you doing tonight?" She paused. "This morning?"

Sharon smiled back and held her hand out to shake. "Not too bad."

Ellis shook her hand firmly, and glanced at Rusty, out cold at the foot of the bed. "I had a look over your file, and you've had a lot going on recently, huh?"

"Yes. That was why I came in. I was told to come in whenever I got sick, even if it seemed insignificant."

"Good idea. You're running a bit of a fever, and your blood pressure is lower than I'd expect. How does it usually run?" The doctor swung the screen around so Sharon could see her own stats. "A little higher than that? Okay." She ran through more questions and a brief physical exam, then stepped back and peeled her gloves off. "I'm thinking this sounds like viral gastroenteritis, especially since you said people at work have been getting it, too. Shouldn't be too big of a deal, but I think it's good you came in. I want to give you IV fluids and Zofran, see if we can't get everything to settle down." She looked at the computer screen again, scanning through the notes on it. "I'd like you to stay here while we do that, and I can have Nic- Dr. Torres- come by when he gets here. Honestly, he's probably going to want to admit you, at least for a couple days."

Sharon sighed heavily and nodded. "We expected as much."

"Alright. Do you have any questions for me?" No one did, so Ellis continued. "Someone will be in to put that IV in and get the Zofran going."

Andy waited until the women had left, then extricated himself from Sharon. "Nothing we weren't expecting," he restated.

"I know. I just wish-"

"That we weren't doing this again?"

"Mm. And so close to Charlie's visit. He's supposed to fly in at the end of the week."

"Don't worry about that, sweetheart. Worst come to worst, he can stay at home with me and Rusty and we'll save him the hotel."

"I suppose." She eased back against the bed and tried to relax. "Tell me about him."

Andy sat in one of the chairs against the wall and kicked his feet up on the edge of the bed between his wife and Rusty. "What do you want to know? I've told you most things, I think."

"Tell me about New York. I can't believe he and Emily are living in the same city."

"It's a big place."

"Big city, small world." She rolled onto her side to face him. "Why did he join the NYPD?"

Andy laced his fingers together and rested his hands behind his head. "You know, he's never told me that, exactly."

" _I_ think he wants to be like his dad."

Andy snorted. "Hell, no. No."

"Protest as much as you like, but I think that on some level, he's proud of you."

"Not a whole lot to be proud of," Andy said skeptically.

His wife reached out and swatted his knee. "Andrew."

"What?"

"You have your flaws, but you never once missed your child support. You went to Nicole's choir concerts and Charlie's lacrosse games, among other things. You did alright, by multiple accounts."

"Have you been talking to Sandy?" He still couldn't believe his wife and his ex-wife liked each other.

"Mm." She shrugged, smiling. "I have my CIs."

He rolled his eyes. Confidential informants. "Okay, sure. I was a crap husband, but I tried to be an okay father." She made a small noise that meant _we_ _'_ _ll work on improving your attitude more later._ "But Charlie. . . let's see. He joined up almost seven years ago now, I guess."

"Seven? Really?"

"Yeah, straight out of college. He did his degree in poly sci, before you ask."

"Did you ever figure out who his girlfriend is?"

"Finley? Nah. You said you didn't know any authors by that name, so I just left it alone. Figure the kid'll tell me eventually."

She yawned. "Finley. Could be rather unfortunate if she decides to marry him and take his name."

"Finley Flynn," he snorted. He nodded towards the boy asleep at her feet. "Yeah well, we nearly got Rusty Raydor, so maybe it's a family thing."

Sharon smiled at him as someone knocked on the door again.

"Hi!" Another young man stuck his head in. He had heavy black glasses and pale blue hair that he'd swept backward. He glanced down at his watch and adjusted his volume. "Hi."

Andy glanced at his wife. She was smiling, evidently somewhat tickled. He laughed internally. Everywhere they went, the staff was getting younger and younger. Then again, he thought, it could also be that he was getting older.

"I'm Kenny, and I'll be your mosquito today." He stepped further into the room.

Andy dropped his feet back to the floor and nudged Rusty. "Hey kid, time to get up." He was surprised that Rusty actually moved without any more prodding. The boy slid off the bed and dropped into the chair next to Andy, blinking as he struggled to wake up.

"Any arm you prefer?"

Sharon shook her head but holdout her left nonetheless.

"Alright, alright." Kenny made easy meaningless conversation as he gloved up and began looking for a vein. Andy realized the chatter provided cover for the man's actions. He even checked Sharon's bracelet without her noticing, which impressed Andy. It was hard to slip things past her.

"I've got one I like, right here, just going to clean it off, everything is all ready, little poke, okay?"

Sharon nodded, keeping her gaze on the man's blue hair, away from his hands.

"Three, two, and we're in. Perfect." He held the cannula still with one hand, retracted the needle, and screwed in the short J-shaped tubing that Andy now knew would stay taped to Sharon's arm as long as the cannula was in. "We're going to take a little bit of blood, and then we'll get everything hooked up. Okay?" There was an elastic snap as Kenny undid the tourniquet, and Andy refocused on his wife.

"The wasn't bad," she murmured.

"Good."

There was another flurry of motion and people, but they were left alone again eventually.

"What time is it?"

Andy fumbled for his watch. He'd stuffed it into a pocket when they'd left home. "Six-thirty."

"Ugh." Rusty unfolded himself from the chair. "I'm going to go look for food. Do you guys want anything?"

Sharon shook her head emphatically, but Andy nodded. "Could you see if they have. . . I don't know, fruit or oatmeal or something like that?"

"Yeah." Rusty held us his hand as Andy reached for his jacket again. "I can afford breakfast for us. Don't worry about it."

"Thanks, kid."

Rusty waited until he had rounded the corner to pull his phone out. It was eight-thirty in New York, and Emily would be up. He scrolled to her number as he followed signs to the cafeteria.

"Hey, squirt. How goes it?" As he'd predicted, she sounded wide-awake. There was some kind of faint music in the background, but it sounded too modern to be her ballet stuff.

"Are you still at home?"

"Yeah, Thursday is our late-start day. I don't have to be in until ten."

"Oh, nice."

"Yeah. Why're you up so early? Is everything okay?" Emily ran her brush through her hair, getting the last tangles out before she pulled it up.

"Yeah, mostly."

"Spill it."

He laughed. "I promise, there's no need to bump your flight up."

Emily was relieved. Something wasn't quite right, but it was okay. She cracked her eyeshadow palette open, set her phone on speaker, and began working on her make-up.

"Mom picked up some stomach bug at work, so we're back at the hospital."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, the lady we saw didn't think it would be too bad, but she said the heart guy might want her to stay here now."

"Oh, I bet Mom's _pissed_ about that."

"I think she will be when she's not so tired, yeah."

"So, are we still on for this weekend even if she's stuck there?" Emily switched brushes and tapped off the excess powder.

"I think so. I'll have to check, but I think we can even bring food from home as long as we run it by her doctor."

"The heart one."

"Yeah."

"Cool, cool. Ricky's corned beef is to die for- oh, maybe not the best choice of words, sorry- and that would blow if you all had to miss out on it."

Rusty snorted and rounded another corner to find the cafeteria before him. It was busy with staff, probably a shift change, and he wandered around, holding the phone to one ear.

"And you're sure I have the same flight as this Charlie kid?"

"He's almost as old as you. And yeah, I double-checked."

"Whatever. I'm still the oldest. And he knows we're meeting up?"

"Yeah. If the Charlie Flynn I found on Facebook is the right one, that is."

Emily groaned. "Please, God. Do you at least have a photo of him so I know who I'm looking for?"

"Why don't you just add him on Facebook?"

"I told you, I gave up social media for Lent."

It was Rusty's turn to sigh in exasperation. "You Catholics."

"Sorry, not sorry." She picked up her eye liner and leaned into the mirror. "Text me his profile photo, little bro. You started this, so you have to do the dirty work."

Rusty rolled his eyes. "Hold on." He swiped away from the phone and opened Facebook. Within a minute, he had screen-shot Charlie's profile photo and sent it to Emily. He could even hear her phone ding as the message arrived.

"Oh, I can see the resemblance."

"Are you saying that because of the NYPD shirt or for real?"

"For real. He looks kind of like Andy."

"Yeah, so you're both on the eight AM Friday flight to Denver, then LA from there. I'll pick you up, I guess, or Ricky if he manages to actually get here when he says he will." Rusty had found that his brother was always running late, unlike Sharon.

"And Mom doesn't know we're coming?"

"No. She and Andy think it's just Charlie. They were thinking everyone would just get together this summer."

"Cool. Is Nicole going to be there?"

Rusty picked up a bowl of melon chunks. "She lives here, duh, she'll be here."

"Tone it down, sass-master."

"Coming from the queen of it."

Emily laughed. "Fair enough. Thanks for the call. I'll text Mom later, once you guys get settled. Want me to call Ricky?"

"I got it. I'll see if he's still planning to get here to pick you guys up from the airport."

"Cool. Talk to you later?"

"Yeah."

"Love ya."

"Same." He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He'd have to do a little work to catch Sharon's doctor alone, but he still had time to plan.

* * *

Andy had stepped out to call Provenza. The other lieutenant had given him some grief over calling in sick, but Andy knew he didn't mean any of it. When he returned to Sharon's room, she was hanging up her own phone.

"Work?" Andy questioned when she set it down.

"Mm. I called in sick to Pope and my therapist. She offered to Skype our appointment, but I told her it wasn't necessary."

Andy nodded. There was no reason to question her decision. Sharon knew herself well, and he trusted her to ask for needed. "You like seeing her?"

"It's been a relief, actually." She rolled over to look at him. "I wasn't expecting that. I don't really know what I was expecting. I've only ever been to one-off sessions, usually when I was in a bad mood and just wanted to get out. But it's been. . . More helpful than I remember."

"Well, last time you went for more than just getting cleared to work was the late 80s, wasn't it?" She had said something about seeing someone briefly the time Jack vanished after clearing out her savings.

"Mm, yes, I think so."

"Things have changed since then, haven't they?"

"Yes. I knew that through FID, because we worked so closely with behavioral health, but there's a difference between knowing it and _experiencing_ it. I think the biggest difference was me, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Like I said, I was in a bad mood all the other times I went. I didn't bring anything to the table except my file and my anger, and they're not a lot to work off of. If you just open up a little and let someone in to help, well, that seems to have made all the difference. Therapy didn't help until I was willing to let it help." She snorted and tangled her fingers in his. "I feel a little hypocritical in retrospect about pushing Rusty to go to therapy and open up to someone when I never did the same."

"It worked."

"Typical New Yorker," she muttered. "You're all about the end result."

He shrugged. There wasn't really a reply to that. "You married me."

She rolled her eyes. "It's too early in the morning to play that card." He grinned at her and she shook her head. "You're incorrigible. Tell me more about Charlie. He's coming in a few days, and I need to know more about him."

It was close to half an hour later that Rusty returned, managing to arrive almost precisely when the heart surgeon did. To Sharon's surprise, he was without his white coat, still in street clothes.

"The night staff let me know you were here when I came in, so I figured I'd come by before morning rounds, since I was early anyway."

"Thank you." Sharon suspected he'd delayed his other duties, at least to some degree, but she decided not to dig further.

"Sure thing." He read through her admittance notes, and thought about what he wanted to do. He liked her. She was nice and she was calm, both things that weren't totally common among his patients. The family was a handful, but then again, most relatives were. "I think you know what I'm going to say, but I want to admit you to the cardiac floor for the weekend. I know you don't want to, but I really think it's for the best." He watched her face fall, and she reached for her husband's hand.

"Are you sure?" Sharon fought to keep her voice steady. Her pitch dropped, but she didn't waver. _It_ _'_ _s not a big deal,_ she told herself. _It's not a big deal. Just a few days._

"Yeah. We need to be careful with your blood pressure, since you're dehydrated." He caught her gaze, talking smoothly. "Remember how it would bottom out in December before we did the LVAD surgery?"

She nodded.

"I'm worried it would do that again if we just let you go. I want to change your meds around, and I don't want you running around Los Angeles while I do it. Okay?" Another nod. "I also want to make completely sure you get over this virus. I don't want to risk it spreading at all, because you've got a higher risk for sepsis and organ failure. You also aren't eligible for transplant if a donor should come up within the next few days. You understand why, right?"

"Yes." She sighed heavily. "I do." In the simplest of terms, she had to be at the top of her game to get a new heart.

"You've been doing really well since you got your LVAD, though," he added. "I think the transplant is going to really be great for you. I think it's going to take you a long way. Don't give up on it. Odds are it'll happen soon, and then you can get back to," he paused. "What you usually do?" He wasn't entirely sure. The Flynns were both cops, and he remembered Sharon had something to do with the Catholic school kidnapping several months prior, but that was about it.

"We work high-profile homicide, generally," she replied at the same time her husband gave his answer.

"Either sit in court all day or unsuccessfully try not to blow up city property," he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

That wasn't something you heard every day. "Okay." Dr. Torres stood stunned for a moment, then pulled himself together. "I want you to get back to keeping the city in one piece, and I think you will." He opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a blue face mask, then held it out. "Sorry, but-"

Sharon took it from him and set it in her lap while she pulled her hair back. "I feel like I'm at some Parisian fashion week," she muttered. She said something else almost inaudibly, but Rusty snorted in amusement.

"We're getting your transfer arranged, and I'll see you upstairs. Any other questions?"

"No, thank you."

Sharon waited for the doctor to leave, then turned to Andy. "You shouldn't just tell people that we destroy city property. One of these days, someone's going to believe you, and I am _not_ saving you and Provenza from the Papal fury when it happens."

Andy glanced over to Rusty. "She's feeling better."

* * *

 _ **My mum used to be a firefighter, and I remember asking her repeatedly for "fire story, fire story" when I was little, and she'd say she'd told me all of them but tell them again nevertheless. Andy probably feels like this with "Charlie story, Charlie story."**_

 ** _Once again, thanks for your patience._**


	16. This Ain't Goodbye

_**Notunbroken, dear, thank you for reviewing literally almost every chapter! Amy, TBH I feel weird writing "Sharon Flynn." I think it just slipped out the first time and now. . . well, I've committed, for better or worse, I guess. Cris- gracias por la nota sobre miércoles frente sábado. ¡Creo que lo arreglé! Thank you everyone for the reviews. 3**_

 _ **Props to anyone who catches the Sharon Beck arc parallel, Donnie Darko reference, and Carrie Fisher nod. Only one of those was intentional haha. This chap is set the day after the last one, in case it's not clear (:**_

 _ **Also realized I forgot about Julio's transfer again. So fucking sorry.**_

* * *

 _This ain't goodbye / It is just the way love goes / When the words aren't warm enough,_  
 _To keep away the cold, oh no / This ain't good bye / It's not where our story ends._

 _-Train_

* * *

"Quad shot in the dark, largest size you have, please. Black." Emily flicked wisps of hair out of her face and moved to pull her wallet out of her bag. She had a carry on, her shoulder tote, and a pair of lightly-used point shoes hung over her shoulder. She wanted to bring a pair to Los Angeles, but not any of her new shoes. Rusty's timing had worked out well; she had just come off her spring tour, and had almost a month before she had to be back in the studio for the summer season. She had bargained a few extra days off with the promise that she'd go to lessons and open studio hours in Los Angeles with a company-approved teacher.

"I got it." A large hand reached past her and set a card down on the counter. "Triple americano, no room."

Emily was about to protest before she looked over her shoulder at the man who was paying for her coffee. He was tall with strong shoulders and short, dark hair; he looked like he'd be a good cavalier. Her eyes narrowed as a thought hit her. He also looked a lot like her new step-father. "Charlie?"

"Yeah, I thought it'd be harder to find a ballerina in an airport, but the shoes gave it away." He took his card back from the cashier, and they moved down the counter to wait for their drinks. "Charlie Flynn." He stuck his hand out.

"Emily Raydor."

They stood in awkward silence, sizing each other up and trying to be discreet about it.

 _What did one say to the new step-brother who hadn_ _'_ _t bothered to show up to the wedding?_ she thought. _I guess I_ _'_ _m your sister now, ICYMI?_

He seemed to be having similar misgivings. "It's nice to actually meet one of you." He grimaced. "Sorry, I mean-"

Emily laughed awkwardly. "No, it's okay, I get what you mean. It's just been Rusty organizing all this online, and I'm not on Facebook, so, yeah, it's been a little weird." Rusty had been planning for all three of them to come out to Los Angeles over the Saint Patrick's weekend. It was one of her mom's favorite holidays. The only deviation from the original plan was that they were headed to the hospital and not the condo.

"Yeah. Good thing we have seven hours to get to know each other." They both laughed this time.

He adjusted his black backpack and shuffled his feet. "So, you're a dancer?"

"Yeah, ballet, American not City." She realized he probably didn't care which company she belonged to after the clarification had slipped out. "You're a cop, too?"

"City, not American," he joked. "Seems like it runs in the family, I guess." Their drinks came up and Charlie stepped forward to grab them. He passed Emily hers and they started down the concourse. "I still can't believe we both ended up in the same damn city. Where-?"

"Greenwich Village. You?"

"Murray Hill." He shook his head. "We live within a few miles of each other. Jesus."

"They're never going to believe it," Emily said. "Uh, Mom and An- your dad."

"Yeah. What are the odds?" He stepped onto the moving walkway next to her. "How's your mom doing? Rusty and Dad said we're having a little change of plans. Dad said she got sick, so they're back at the hospital?"

"Mhm. I guess she just got something from work, but she's stuck in the cardiac unit over the weekend. She's hoping to get out by Mass on St. Patrick's." The holiday was the coming Saturday.

"Is she devout?" Charlie knew his dad and the new step-mother married in the Church, and he assumed it was because of her. His dad wasn't particularly observant, at least the last he knew.

"I guess, yeah. I mean, she's not like real open about it. The Church got her through a whole lot of shit when I was young, but she doesn't talk about it very often, just goes to Mass, confesses, and helps them with stuff when she can."

Charlie nodded. He could understand that. There was another long pause, and he waited until they gotten onto the next walkway before he spoke. "You seem to have the home field advantage. You want to tell me about. . ." He waved his free hand. "Everything, I guess?"

Emily laughed. It was awkward, but not as much as she'd expected. "That's an awful lot to go through. You're a cop, you know how to ask questions. Question me."

"There're three of you?" If she was willing to be direct, then he was, too.

"Yep. Me, then Ricky, then Rusty."

"And. . . Rusty's the adopted one?" It sounded somewhat rude, Charlie realized after the fact. To his relief, Emily didn't seem to mind.

"Yep. Mom's a wicked softie- you can't let her know that you know- and literally took pity on Rusty the day he walked into her office."

"What?" His dad's new wife was a cop, which meant her office was something to do with the police, either Internal Affairs or Major Crimes, based on what his dad had said. He didn't know what department Emily was referencing, though.

"Oh. Sorry. Um," Emily took a long drink. "I don't even really know. Rusty saw this murder and ended up in police custody because he was homeless, and his file was flagged that he was supposed to be sent to Mom's division if anything came up, and she literally transferred there the day Rusty ended up there, and she took him in. They're both kind of vague about this part- Mom says it's Rusty's story to tell, and Rusty's weird about personal stuff- but I guess it was supposed to be temporary, and then Rusty's parents signed over their rights, and Mom adopted him. . . I don't know, a year later?"

"Wow." Charlie was taken aback. "All Dad said is that-" he laughed. "He said that you guys were me and Nic's age, and Rusty was a little younger."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but your dad can be pretty tight-lipped, can't he?"

"Yeah. That's Dad." They reached the gate and found a pair of empty chairs. Charlie dropped his bag and sat down. Emily joined him a moment later. "Can you tell me what your mom's like? Dad hasn't said a whole lot, I think he doesn't want to force his thoughts on me. He's real ginger about stuff with me."

"Can't say I blame him." Emily looked at him over her paper cup. "Gotta be what? Over a decade?"

Charlie looked down. "Been about seven years since I talked to him. Longer since I saw him. We. . . I didn't get on with him too well when I was a teenager."

"Hm."

He looked up at her. "What's that mean?"

She leaned back in her chair. "My dad left me and my mom when I was two. Not real long. I think he crashed on a buddy's couch for a few weeks. Told my mom he had to study for finals without getting distracted by a kid. Left us and Ricky a few years later." Her lips quirked to the side briefly. "It was a lot longer. He cleared out my mom in the process, and she spent the next decade digging us out of the hole and taking my dad back a half dozen times. I think was hoping they could make it work, but. . ."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I guess you probably don't talk to him much?"

Emily smiled. "I did, until he fell off the wagon again a couple years ago. We haven't been in touch as much lately."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"Thanks. I'm sorry you and your dad had crap time, too."

"Yeah, me, too." Charlie sighed. "What, what's Dad like?"

"Really?" She wasn't annoyed, just surprised. "I haven't spent a whole lot of time with him."

"More than me." Charlie smiled faintly.

"Yeah, I guess." She sighed. "He's kind of like a big puppy. Tries hard, tries to fix it when he fucks up. Um, the big thing is that he treats my mom right. He treats her like she's the sun that we all revolve around."

It wasn't too hard to hear, to his surprise. Perhaps it was because he knew his own mother, knew she'd moved on and found love with someone else. She was still cool towards his dad, but they were okay with each other. Sandra had actually mentioned his dad's new girlfriend a few times, said she was alright. Charlie had been shocked, but tried not to show it. It did hurt a little; he supposed it would for a long time. Maybe he wouldn't get over it, but maybe he could.

"I'm glad," he said finally. "Really. What's your mom like?"

"She. . ." Emily kicked her feet up on her luggage. "She's not the sun. She's the North Star. She's not the center of the universe, and in no way would want anyone to think that. She's the guiding light. She's everything I want to be, personality-wise. You're a cop, you'll understand this. She worked IA while we were growing up, Captain of it, eventually. She wanted to be a lawyer, but me, then Ricky, and then Dad leaving. . . it didn't pan out, you know. She didn't even want to stay in the job originally, and then she ended up policing the police, I guess. Seemed to be a hard job."

"Yeah. Dad mentioned that. She rode his department pretty good, I guess?"

Emily snorted. "I'd call every once in a while, once I moved out, and she'd have to roll out in the middle of the conversation, and I swear to God, it was always about your dad and Lieutenant Provenza."

Charlie laughed again. "Oh God, Louie Provenza. He's still around?"

"Yeah, works for Mom now, too."

"Ooh, that bites."

"Last time I was home, she was out on leave, and I think he got immense pleasure pulling rank on her, since he was the stand-in boss." Emily laughed. "She's cool. She's a stickler for the rules-"

 _Can_ _'_ _t blame her,_ Charlie thought. _Not with that history._

"-but she's fun. She's cool," Emily repeated. "She has one of those dorky little Christmas villages, and color-coordinates her kitchen, and she dances with me in the living room when I'm home on break."

"She sounds like a good lady."

"The best."

"I hope this all works out."

"Me, too. He's good to her, and she deserves that." Emily fell silent. "I know that someday I'll have to live without her, but I'm not ready for that. I thought we were going to lose her at Christmas."

Charlie stayed quiet, sipping on his drink. This was new to him. His dad hadn't mentioned much beyond that the new wife was sick, and Nic wouldn't- or couldn't- say much about it.

"It wasn't a big deal, and then all of a sudden, it was. She passed out, cracked her head pretty good, and we flew out to see her. Went home, she was doing okay, and then she wasn't." Emily shrugged, trying to.

This part was more familiar and Charlie could see Emily was starting to dwell on it. "Guess she and Dad got something in common, then."

"Huh?"

"Thick-headed Irish, both of 'em."

Emily laughed long and hard. "They are, oh my god."

A voice crackled over the speakers. "Delta Airlines is now boarding priority passengers for flight five-sixty-four to Los Angeles, stop-over at Denver International Airport."

Charlie glanced at the young woman next to him. "Ready?"

"I feel like I should be the one asking you that."

"I'm ready. Been working up to this for a while now."

She nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

"Julio?" Sharon looked up at him from her chair. Her detective was standing before her, hands clasped. She had offered him a chair, but he'd declined. He stood in the sunlight streaming in through the open window. Her hospital room faced south this time around, and she was glad of it. The sunshine was warm and cheerful, and she felt better for

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm glad you told me before you left." Sharon smiled at him and watched as he relaxed by a degree.

"And you're alright with this." It wasn't so much a question as a statement. He was as stoic as ever, standing before her as he had so many times over the years.

"Julio." She pushed herself out of her chair and reached for him. He raised his arms almost reflexively, as if he was worried she'd fall, but then seemed to realize she was coming in for a hug. "I understand completely why you're transferring. I did the same when I was about your age. Same reason." She had been quite a bit younger, actually, but who was counting?

"Your transfer to FID?" She never talked about her original transfer, and he had joined the LAPD after she had established herself as Darth Raydor, Captain Poppins.

"Mm. It was better hours, better pay, and, honestly, it was usually safer. I had two children at home that I was taking care of. I understand."

"Thank you."

She squeezed him tightly once more, then stepped back. "Thank _you_ , Julio. You've taught me a lot over the years; I honestly mean that. Transferring into such an. . . _active_ division was hard, at first. You made it easier." She couldn't verbally encompass what he'd meant to her. The whole squad had hated her, she knew that, but Julio had at least been professional about it. He'd also been one of the first to warm to her, been a rock in that particular turbulent period of her life. "If you don't mind my asking, how long. . .?"

"I've been considering it for a couple of months, ma'am. They've been holding the position for me."

She frowned, wondering what he was waiting on. Mark's paperwork was signed and submitted- and had been for a while- the hiring freeze was long over. _Oh._ "Were you waiting on my okay for this?"

He shrugged. "Didn't seem right to transfer out without talking to you about it. And you've been busy."

Her heart melted slightly. "Oh, Julio, you didn't have to wait for me."

"I know." Another shrug. "But I wanted to. You've done a lot of good work with us, been a really good leader, better than the Chief, probably, and. . . I wanted you to know that, ma'am. And I know you're a fan of special occasions, so it didn't seem right to skip out on this last one." He finally smiled at her as she began to tear up.

"Thank you." The words came out low and thick, and he stepped forward to hug her in return. "This isn't going to be the last special occasion," she said into his lapel. "You're still family. You're still going to have to come to all of our get-togethers."

"Even when I steal your cases and piss off Lieutenant Flynn?"

" _Especially_ then."

A movement at the door caught both their attentions, and Julio pulled back as the Lieutenant in question stepped in with a box in one hand and a shopping bag in the other.

"Trying to steal my girl, Julio?"

"No, sir, just telling her that she'll have her hands full with you and Lieutenant Provenza now that I'm not gonna be there to keep you in check," he replied with a straight face.

Andy laughed, and set his things down on the table. "Congratulations. We're going to miss you." Julio had told the rest of them earlier in the day, at work, but requested he himself be the one inform the Commander.

"I'm going to miss you, too."

Sharon glanced up at Andy. "I told him he still has to come over and see us all."

"I will."

"And we'll have to have a proper going-away party eventually."

"Yes, ma'am." Julio nodded to her and the lieutenant. "I should head home now. Mark's going to be out of his after-school program soon." Before he could turn and leave, Sharon saluted him sharply, much as her team had only hours before. It would have warmed him had she stood before him in a dark suit or uniform, but she was in socked feet and pajamas, IV site and J-loop taped to her arm, and his heart melted. He never would have guessed that thirteen years in Major Crimes would have culminated in a new family, a promotion, and Sharon Raydor saluting him as he left to pick up his son from school. He returned the gesture and quietly left, lips pressed together tightly.

Sharon watched him go, before turning to Andy.

"He didn't say anything until today. I had my suspicions, but. . ." he trailed off.

"Why is that?"

"Oh, nothing really. He just was checking his email a lot, and he went down to R-'n'-H every once in a while on break. And he'd said he wanted to talk to you about something back in December, I think."

"Yes, I remember. I can't believe he waited this long."

"I think he wanted to say good-bye personally. You mean a lot to him, you know."

"I didn't know," she said. "Not really." She walked over to the bed and sat down, stretching her legs out before her and leaning forward to wrap her hands around her feet. "Mm. How was work?"

"Nothing exciting. We got a few leads, but nothing's really panning out yet."

"If you give me the file, I'll look over it."

He laughed. "I had a feeling you'd say that. I've got it in my bag. Rusty was working on some homework when I left, but he said he'll come over later with dinner for him and me, so we can eat here with you tonight."

"You're going home after, right?" She had convinced him that sleeping at home was in his best interests since he was continuing to work. He hadn't wanted to, but they both knew he'd sleep better in an actual bed. Weeks ago, they had decided that she would be fine by herself overnight for any minor hospitalizations. Andy would save his time off for the Big One, as he'd dubbed her transplant.

He picked the box he'd brought in up off the table and crossed the room to hand it to her.

"Andy? What is this?" She looked at the package in her lap.

He glanced over at her from where he was unpacking his bag. "Oh, I don't know. It came in the mail today, from Emily, I think."

It was indeed from Emily. Sharon could recognize her daughter's handwriting on the address. She fingered the edge of the tape, contemplating leaving it alone until later.

"What's wrong?" Like usual, he had cued into her feelings. Andy left his bag and walked over to her side, reaching around her to squeeze one shoulder absentmindedly.

"Nothing. It's just odd that she'd send something now, and that she'd overnight it." The box was stamped with an overnight shipping label. "Usually when she mails an actual box she needs some item of clothing mended."

"She. . . Doesn't she have to sew her dance shoes herself? Surely clothes aren't any more complicated." He sounded confused.

Sharon huffed amusedly. "You'd think so."

"I guess nothing can compare to Mom, huh?"

"I suppose." With that, Sharon peeled the tape back. Emily had packed the box full, and the flaps popped back as soon as they were freed from the tape. Sharon lifted out a green sweater and a note fell out of it.

 _Sorry, I borrowed this last time I was out and forgot to give it back._

Sharon laughed. "I had been wondering where this got to. I assumed I left it somewhere. I seem to be doing that more often."

Andy had noticed that. Sharon had never been absentminded, and she still was still as sharp as ever, but with everything going on, she occasionally forgot her glasses and other small things around the office and condo. Both her doctor and her counselor had told her it was nothing to worry about, just a side effect of stress and medication, but it annoyed the hell out of her.

"What in the world. . ."

He pulled himself back into the moment and leaned over Sharon's shoulder again. "What?"

She pulled out a small orange floral bag and a makeup palette that was too large to fit in the bag. "It's her whole makeup drawer, I think. And part of her ballet bag." Sharon also pulled out dental floss, a pair of strange pink silicone cups, and a small sewing kit.

"Emily's?"

Sharon didn't answer, unzipping the bag instead and poking through the contents.

"Why would she send you that?"

"I don't know. It's all hers, though. I'm sure about that because it's all been opened. Pass me my phone?"

Andy handed it to her and watched as she took a photo of the mess in her lap, texted it to her daughter, and followed the picture with a question mark.

Sharon tucked everything back into the bag, then set it to the side. There was a book, black with neon artwork and a playbill for Sleeping Beauty. She looked at the book first, and, again, it had a sticky attached to it.

 _Mom, I read this the other week on the_ _plane to_ _Singapore and really liked it. It_ _'_ _s a_ _mystery. It_ _'_ _s not your usual womanly manifesto-type read, but y_ _ou_ _might like it. At the very least it_ _'_ _ll relieve some of your boredom. Love, Emmy_

Sharon showed the cover to Andy, raising one eyebrow with some skepticism.

" _Meddling Kids,_ " he read. "Are those octopus tentacles?" There were purple tentacles of some sort rising from a lime green pond.

"It looks. . . interesting."

"Are you going to try and solve it before the characters do?"

"I don't always do that!" she protested.

"Keep telling yourself that," he laughed. "What's the Sleeping Beauty thing?"

"Oh." She picked it up and replaced the book and the makeup into the box. "She said they were doing Sleeping Beauty this last season. This must be one of the bills from it. She danced the Lilac Fairy." She smiled nostalgically, and Andy realized he'd lost her to memory.

"Babe?" He finally asked. "What is it?"

She blinked and shook her head slightly. "Sorry, it's- well, you know the gist of the story, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, the Lilac Fairy is the one who helps Aurora and does all the real work, honestly. It's a big role, and Emmy got it this year. I think whoever had it last likely retired. Companies often hand these kinds of roles down so that the same dancer repeats them until they can't perform it to standard anymore."

"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" he asked in surprise.

"Ballet is very competitive. That's why I finally stopped."

"Yeah?"

"Mm. I was good, but not _that_ good. I danced through college, and then. . ." she shrugged.

"I'd like to see a picture of that someday."

She laughed. "You would. I'm sure there are some in storage. My mother got copies of the class photos every year. If you can find the bin of photo books, there're probably photos dating back to. . . I don't know, '57 or so?"

"That's going to be my first priority after I head out tonight. I think we all need to see those."

"Oh, my God, you're such a child."

"Yeah, well, you married me."

She snorted and opened the playbill. "Oh."

"What?" He leaned over to look at it. It had a photo cover and the pages were heavy, cream paper. They were covered in black and blue scrawls and signatures and dark pink lip-prints.

"They all signed it. It must be most of the cast and crew." She pressed her fingers to her lips and slowly read through the inscriptions. Andy couldn't read as well from his angle, but most of the people seemed to have written things. Much of it seemed to be generic, _hope you_ _'_ _re back on your feet soon_ , but some of it was genuine, probably from friends of Emily that Sharon had met on her trips out to New York. She'd only managed to get out twice since taking over Major Crimes- he knew _that_ because both she and Provenza had griped each time about him taking command while she was gone- but he was fairly sure she'd gone more regularly in Internal Affairs.

"Aw." She smiled widely and held up the last spread for Andy to see. A word swirled across both pages in bright red script. Andy wasn't sure if it was permanent marker or some kind of long-lasting lipstick. Sharon carried both in her purse, so he wouldn't be surprised if Emily did, too.

"Mer-dy?"

" _Merde_. It means _shit_ in French."

"Shit?"

"Ah," she hummed quietly and pursed her lips, looking for words. "It's a way of saying good luck in the dance world. Break a leg, if you will."

"I'd rather not," he joked.

"Very funny. You get together in a circle together backstage and link little fingers and say _merde._ "

"So they're wishing you good luck, from dancer to dancer?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "They are." She sniffled slightly and tucked her head into his chest. "Damn medication," she mumbled.

He didn't reply, letting her thin facade hold.

* * *

"Come on, come on." Rusty paced along the sidewalk in front outside Sharon's building. No matter how long he lived there, how long Andy lived there, it would always be _Sharon_ _'_ _s_ place. He couldn't get himself to think of it as anything else.

He hadn't lied to Andy about making dinner. He was just making dinner for five, not two. He had his satchel over one shoulder and a packed Trader Joe's bag in the other hand.

"Come on."

The plane from Denver came in half an hour late, so Ricky was running late, too, and Rusty was running out of creative excuses. He'd texted Sharon that dinner was taking longer than he thought, but he wasn't sure how much longer she'd believe it.

"Finally!" A red Jetta pulled up along the sidewalk, and Rusty had the door open almost before it completely stopped. "Hey."

"Hey, little bro." Ricky reached over and ruffled Rusty's hair.

"Dude!"

Ricky pulled back with a wicked grin. "Just getting even."

Rusty rolled his eyes and turned around in his seat as Ricky took off again. "Hi, Em."

"Hey, Rusty."

He stuck his hand back. "I'm Rusty. I mean, I guess you know that, but-"

"Charlie."

Rusty regarded him curiously. Charlie was clearly tall, like his father, and his legs were folded tightly into the backseat. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black leather jacket.

"Thanks for agreeing to all of this." Rusty dropped back into his seat. "It probably seems crazy."

There was a long silence, before Charlie spoke. He looked around the car, at Emily, at Ricky and Rusty. "Nah. It just seems like you love your mom a lot."

Rusty nodded.

"I mean, she's alright." Ricky waved one hand through the air. "Your dad's okay, I guess."

"Ricky, stop being such a shithead," Emily said in exasperation. She knew he was joking, but she was tired and the noise of traffic and her brothers was beginning to grate on her.

"Go suck a fuck, Em. I love you, too."

She gave the back of his seat a vicious kick, and Rusty looked back at Charlie.

"Welcome to the family."

Emily opened her purse and pulled out a small bottle of aspirin. "Oh my God, I asked for a puppy, and she got me _three_ brothers." She swallowed the pills quickly and sighed. "Nicole is cool, though. I like having her around. It evens things out a little."

"Speaking of Nic, is she meeting-"

"Yeah, she's meeting us at the hospital," Rusty said. "She said she can't stay super long, but she wanted to say hi. Oh, hold on-" He held up his phone, and everyone stopped talking. "Hey, Andy. Yeah, sorry, I'm on my way over now. Yeah, it just took longer to bake than I thought. I can stay 'til like nine. Charlie's flight gets in at ten. Mhmm. Nah, just meet us at home when you get kicked out. 'kay. Bye."

"Dad?"

"Yeah. He was just wondering where we were. I told him I'd be there at seven-thirty."

"So they think it's just me coming today and that my plane gets in later?"

"Yeah." Rusty outlined his plan as Ricky pulled into the hospital parking garage and slowed down, looking for a spot.

They piled out of the car, Charlie taking the longest since he had to wiggle his feet back out from under the front seat. Rusty led the way into the hospital and up to the right floor. He stuck his head out when they stopped, checking the hallway.

"Let's go."

Charlie looked around as they walked. The hospital was nice enough, mostly done up in gold and blue tones. The bottom half of the walls were blue, and the tiled floor was blue and yellow speckled.

Rusty led them to a small room off the main hall. A tag outside said it was a family conference room. Charlie grimaced at the thought of what the conferences were likely about. Rusty ducked back out and the other three watched him stop at the nurses' station, presumably checking in with the staff. He came back a moment later.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Yep."

"Did you tell them there might actually be screaming?" Emily readjusted her bag on her shoulder.

"I said there might be a little shrieking and that it was okay."

Emily flashed him an _okay_ with both hands as she walked out of the room.

Charlie took the tail again, all of them following Rusty. The elder three waited tight to the wall as Rusty knocked on the door and slipped in. There were muffled voices inside. Charlie could hear a low, feminine voice. It had to be Sharon.

Rusty's pitch came through again, and the three outside knew he was saying he'd forgotten something when he'd checked in. Sure enough, Rusty pulled the door open again a moment later.

"Come on."

Charlie rounded the corner first, taking in the room. The lights were on, and a bright spray of flowers sat on the table where his father and a woman with were seated. She had dark, auburn hair and a blanket over her shoulders, her feet tucked up under her.

"Rusty?" She looked puzzled, but Andy stood immediately.

He was older than Charlie remembered, his hair lighter and face creased.

"Hey, Dad."

Andy walked over and clasped his son's hand in his, seemingly unsure of whether or not Charlie would be up for anything else. Charlie pulled him in and hugged him tightly.

"Charlie."

They stood that way for a long minute, and Charlie could hear Rusty awkwardly shuffling near the doorway. When they finally broke apart, the woman- Sharon- stood near them. She had shed the blanket, and Charlie could see the IV in her arm. Nothing was attached to it beyond the extension tubing and clamp, so she was probably doing better and it was hospital policy to keep it in.

He held out his hand to her, and she smiled widely. "I didn't think you were getting here until later. I'm Sharon, and you must be Charlie." Her voice was low and flat, and Charlie's first thought was that it was a good voice for interrogations.

He pushed the thought away. It wasn't the time to be a cop. "It's good to finally meet you. Nic and Rusty talk about you a lot."

"Rusty. . .?" she said slowly.

The young man leaned against the wall. "Well, we were going to surprise you at home, but then, you know, so we thought we'd do it here."

"Thank you." She flapped her arms at him and he slowly stepped in for the inevitable hug.

"Promise me you aren't going to freak out."

She pulled back, and Charlie could suddenly see the Commander his dad had married.

"Rusty." This time her tone was sharper. She gasped and- as Rusty had promised- shrieked loudly as something- someone caught her attention. "Emily! Wha- Ricky?" She whirled towards Rusty, mouth open. Andy grasped her arm, holding her in place.

Sharon's eyes were wet as she spoke. "How did you-?"

Charlie jerked his thumb towards Rusty. "He got us all in touch with each other."

"Oh, honey."

"Hello?" Nicole stuck her head around the door. "Hi, sorry, traffic was awful. Hey, Char!" Hey Dad, everyone." She smiled.

It took several minutes for both Sharon and Andy to compose themselves. Rusty began unpacking dinner and laying it out across the table with Sharon's separate dinner from the cafeteria downstairs. Emily made a beeline for the box her mother had left on the bed and retrieved her possessions.

"Sorry about taking your sweater. Also, I didn't want to bounce my Naked around the airport, so I figured it was safer to bubble-wrap and mail to you."

"Thank you for the program," Sharon finally said.

Emily smiled. "You're welcome. I knew you wouldn't be able to make it out this year, but I thought you'd still like a program."

The men moved chairs to the table and the flowers to the cabinet. No one talked much until they were settled. Nicole declined dinner, having already eaten with her family, but Rusty passed plates around to everyone but her and Sharon.

Sharon pushed her vegetables around and looked over at Charlie. "I'm glad you've come out to LA. Andy's been talking about it since you mentioned it."

"Yeah?"

She glanced at her husband. "Mhmm. I've been looking forward to this. I see you've met the horde. I _do_ hope they haven't scared you off." She looked over her glasses at the other three.

Charlie laughed. He had to hand it to his father's new wife; she seemed good at creating conversation and keeping it easy. "Nah, they're alright, ma'am."

"Sharon. Not ma'am. Andy tells me you're part of the NYPD?"

"Yes, ma- Sharon."

"How long have you been there?"

"Eight years, now. Started right after college."

Andy listened as Sharon worked her way through a sweet-faced interrogation. To an untrained eye, it would have come off as normal, perhaps slightly nosy, but Andy- and he expected Charlie, too- knew the difference.

She eventually transitioned into more of a general conversation, involving all five of the kids and catching up on what everyone was involved in. The questions for Rusty were more for everyone else's benefit. He was working for Andrea, was planning to start law school in the fall, hadn't decided if he wanted to rent an apartment or stay with Sharon and Andy. Sharon was hoping for the latter, but wasn't pressing him on it.

Emily had just returned from a ballet tour in Singapore. Part of her company had traveled there, and the second group had just left for Hong Kong. The summer season would start a couple weeks after the China tour group returned stateside. She was hoping for more large roles since she'd been promoted to soloist a few months prior, a feat Andy remembered Sharon happily crying over.

Ricky couldn't tell them much about his latest job, just saying it was government-related and he'd had to sign non-disclosure agreements.

"I might bring this girl home next time, though," he added offhandedly. Sharon's focus immediately narrowed, and Andy laughed.

"Does this girl have a name?" he asked.

Ricky pursed his lips, sizing his mother up and debating whether or not he wanted to tell her.

"Sara." He tried not to grin as Andy subtly reached under the table and rested his hand on Sharon's knee. She sighed and he knew she was restraining herself. When he was a teen, she had taken it upon herself to grill both his dates and Emily's before they went out.

"And what does she do?" Sharon settled for a lowball.

"She's an art teacher. Makes pottery on the side." He did laugh then. Sharon looked completely shocked. "I met her at some farmer's market thing near my apartment. I go down there and get apple fritters sometimes."

"Well," Sharon said slowly. "Tell Sara I'd love to meet her next time you get it in your head to drive down and surprise me with a visit. Surprise us," she corrected.

Nicole had managed to keep in touch with everyone more or less, so she only brought up that the boys' dance recital would be in early May.

Emily leaned in. "I'm going to be here for a little while, I think, and I have to take some ballet classes to keep up while I'm off, and if you'd like, I could hang out with the boys for a bit. I dunno if-" she shrugged, slightly uncomfortable and not trying to come off as sounding full of herself.

"I think they'd really like that. To be honest, their studio might not even mind if you drop by, if you want to. They bring in guest instructors every so often, just to shake things up."

Emily beamed. "I'd love to. Even if they don't want me, it'd be nice to have a girls' day with you."

Andy finally cut in when he noticed Sharon starting to flag. She had her chin propped in one hand and had pulled her blanket back up into her lap.

"They're going to come around to kick us out soon."

"Oh, shit," Charlie checked his phone. "It's almost ten. I didn't even notice."

"Time flies," Sharon replied. She watched as the others began packing their things up, making no move to help them. By that alone, Andy could tell she was running on fumes.

By the time a night nurse came around formally give them the boot, they were saying their goodbyes for the night.

Emily lingered by her mother's side. "Can I stay tonight?" she asked.

"Emmy, it's not very restful. . ."

"I know, but I'd like to, to hang out some more."

Sharon looked to Andy, eyebrows raised. He shrugged at her as if to say _your call._

"If you're sure, then, it's fine with me."

"Okay." Emily turned to hug her brothers and Nicole. "I'll see you guys tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Rusty replied.

Ricky nodded. "We'll have a proper-" he fumbled for the term. "Guys' night without you girls around the house."

Nicole scoffed, kissed her father's cheek, and waved to the rest of them before leaving. Andy folded his coat over one arm and looked to the young woman setting her bag back down in one of the chairs.

"Emily, don't keep your mother up late, okay?"

She nodded seriously.

Andy leaned down to kiss Sharon. "Be good."

She smiled tiredly. "That's what I'm supposed to tell you."

"I don't know. Darth Raydor can raise hell by herself, and now she's got the mini-Darth with her."

"I'll try not to burn the place down while you're gone."

"That's my girl. I love you."

"Love you, too," she said quietly. She gave his hand one last squeeze, and then the boys left. She felt gratified as she watched Andy sling one arm over Charlie's shoulders as they walked away.

Emily rummaged through her bag. "I've got my toothbrush and everything in here. I'm going to get changed and all. Be right back." She took what she needed and slipped into the bathroom quietly.

Emily came back and switched Sharon places. Sharon returned as Emily was getting settled on the reclining chair between the bed and window. They were both quiet as the night nurse came in again and took Sharon's last evening round of vital signs.

"I'll be back at one. Call button is right here." He turned off the light on his way out at Sharon's polite request, and the room was silent.

Sharon sighed and rolled to her side, watching Emily. Her daughter was fidgeting on the pull-out chair.

"I know that's not comfortable, but surely you've slept on worse chairs."

"Can I come up with you?"

Sharon didn't think the staff would approve, but she nodded. Her condition forced her to stay in a step-down ward, called the ICCU, intermediate cardiac care unit. She hadn't been sick since that morning, so they'd disconnected her IV since she could keep water and food down, but kept her on twelve-lead heart monitoring. It used a smaller, portable computing unit that didn't keep her stuck to a wall-mounted monitor and wasn't as likely to get tangled up at night.

 _To hell with the rules._

She edged backward and Emily eased up onto the bed.

"Ooh."

"What?"

Emily shifted her weight, and the bed moved with her. "I wasn't expecting it to be so. . . wiggly."

Sharon laughed softly. "It is."

The bed continued to shake as Emily wriggled into place and pulled the blanket up over herself. "Mm, nice, itchy blanket."

"Emmy," she said quietly. She knew Emily had had a long day of traveling, but her daughter wasn't usually so blasé. Something was bothering her more than usual.

"Mama."

 _Mama_ was never a good sign. It was _Mom_ on most occasions, or _Moth-err_ if Emily was particularly annoyed. _Mama_ was what Emily called her when Jack left, when Emily had broken her arm at school, when she woke up sick in the middle of the night.

"What is it, baby?" Sharon reached one arm around to Emily's back and pulled her closer. Her dark hair smelled like artificial strawberries, and her breath was warm on her mother's neck.

Emily was silent, and Sharon started to wonder if she'd fallen asleep.

"I missed you."

"You missed me?" Sharon tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice. Emily had gone longer without seeing her and not mentioned being homesick.

"Mm."

"Does this have anything to do with Singapore?" Emily hadn't been so far from home on tour before.

"Nah." It was soft, half-asleep.

"You were just here a couple months ago."

"Yeah."

Sharon fell silent, knowing Emily would pick up the slack if she didn't fall asleep. Sure enough, a few minutes later, she spoke.

"I like Charlie."

"He seems a lot like Ricky, doesn't he?"

"Yeah. We talked a lot on the plane."

"You flew together?"

"Mhm, Rusty booked our tickets together. I think he's still working through his feelings about Andy-"

"That makes sense."

"-and he isn't sure what he's supposed to do."

"What did you tell him?"

Emily shifted. "Just to roll with it. Just be himself, cliché as it sounds. That Andy was pretty cool, as far as I'd seen. I think it helps that his mom likes you, too, but he isn't really sure about you either."

"That's understandable. He's only just met me. Think about how you felt abut Andy at first. You were pretty unsure about him, weren't you? Ricky didn't like him at all, said he was just like your father."

"He's not!"

"But you didn't know that at first."

"You're not like Dad or Andy, though, and Charlie knows that."

"I'm not an alcoholic, no, but there's far more to someone's character than that, Emmy. You know that." Sharon's tone firmed. She was sure Emily knew that. "Did you think that maybe Charlie cares for his dad, and doesn't want to see him get hurt, either?"

There was a pause. "No, I guess not."

"That could be, too. Charlie doesn't know me at all."

"Yeah." The conversation over dinner had focused on the kids, not as much on Andy, and hardly at all on Sharon, despite the setting. "He asked me about you, if you were cool."

"I don't know that I ever fell into the _hip_ category."

Emily snorted. "You're cool, don't worry. I told him that you would get your way because you always do, and that somehow you manage to talk everyone around to it. I said that you love everybody and that Andy's just a big puppy around you."

"Is he, now?" Sharon smiled and stroked Emily's hair back, out of her face.

"Mom, of course he is. He really loves you, and everyone can see that. Even Rusty."

"Well, I should hope so," Sharon said gently. There was no bite in her voice, just mild amusement.

"Someday you'll have to tell me how he actually proposed." Emily huffed a breath. "I can't believe you didn't even have a little party at work. I know Ricky blew the surprise, but still."

"Things got busy, Emmy. That's all. When things calm down a little, we'll all have a. . . I don't know. . . a late wedding reception, or something."

"Mama?"

"Mm?"

"I don't want you to go."

Sharon frowned, trying to figure out _where_ , precisely she was going, and then she realized what Emily meant. "Honey, I'm not going anywhere. Not if I can help it."

"I know you don't want to, but-" Emily inhaled sharply. "But sometimes you can't help it. At Christmas. . . I didn't think I'd get to say-"

"Shh. Shh. . ."

"Mama, what do I do without you? I don't know how I'm supposed to live without you."

Sharon sighed. She didn't know; all she knew was that there wasn't any one answer. "I don't know."

"I don't wanna know."

"Emmy. Someday, I hate to say it, but I'll be gone. You'll be okay."

"No."

"Yes. You've got Ricky and Rusty and Andy, even Nicole and Charlie. You've got Gramma Maggie and Granda. Andrea. Gavin."

"I want you."

"And you've got me. I am here."

Emily inched closer.

"I'm not planning to go anywhere. Even if I do, I'll still be with you."

"Hmph."

"Yes. I didn't send you to St. Joe's for twelve years for that reaction. I don't care if you believe in the religion, but they taught you manners there, too." Sharon knew Ricky had lapsed and Emily was still observant, though not fastidiously so. Neither of them were as religious as she was, but faith came in many forms, devotional or not, and if they were happy, so was she. Religion, for her was about increasing the good in the world through service and love. Emily brought her joy into the world with her dancing. Ricky spent some of his time volunteering in downtown San Francisco and running charity races. That was all she could possibly want from them. Love.

"Mama-a."

"I'll be in your heart and your memories. I won't truly be gone. When you honor my memory, you'll honor me, and I'll always love you. You know that."

"I know."

"Do you remember that embroidery that Gramma has on the wall? The one my grandmother did."

"Yeah. It's that one Irish blessing about wind at your back and the road rising to meet you. The long one."

"Do you remember the last line?"

"No?"

"'Until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of His hand.' Or Her hand," Sharon added thoughtfully. "The point is that goodbye isn't forever, Emmy. It may feel like it, but it isn't. People aren't truly gone until every last memory of them is gone, too."

"I won't ever forget you, Mama."

"I know."

They both fell silent, listening to the faint noise of traffic far below. Moonlight crept across the tiled floor, and Sharon could feel her daughter's breathing gradually slow and even out as the younger woman fell asleep.

If she were honest, she didn't want to die, either, despite her insistence that goodbyes were temporary. There was work to be done still. Work with Anne McGinnis and Will Pope, yes, but also the more personal kind. She wanted to laugh with Andrea and Gavin over a bottle of wine, see Emily dance the Lilac Fairy in person, meet Ricky's art teacher, help Charlie rebuild his relationship with his father.

Andy.

There was so much she wanted to do with the man she'd married. They'd only just gotten started. Yes, they'd known each other longer than she'd known her own children, but the years past weren't the same. They'd put off Ireland, but she was still holding out on that dream. It might have to wait a year, but they'd go. She was sure of it. There was something special about going home to the ancestral homeland. It wasn't her home or his, but the other times she'd been, it still felt like going home. It felt right; that was the only way to describe it.

Beyond Ireland, there was simply their life together. It was hard to let her walls down and rely on someone else. She'd been struggling with it recently. She'd always been a caretaker: for her first two children, for Jack, for Rusty, for Andy. Her therapist had suggested that it was perhaps the sudden role reversal right before the wedding had thrown her. It would make sense. In her last marriage and for much of her life, she had always been the stronger figure, and now she wasn't. Andy worked, cooked, took care of her when she couldn't, and she struggled with it. She even struggled with the struggle, trying to accept it.

Most of the time, however, they were simply together, no one more than the other. He was her best friend in every aspect, and he warmed her.

As if tempting fate, her phone buzzed quietly and the screen lit up the ceiling directly above it.

Sharon reached over Emily and fumbled for the device, nudging it to the edge of the cabinet so she could pick it up. She held it close to read the screen since she'd long since removed her glasses.

 _New Message from Lt. Andy Flynn:_ _Get some sleep._

She'd never gotten around to changing his contact information to anything less formal. Rusty had brought it up once, months ago, and then it had just become a joke between the three of them. He had asked her if she'd say _I take you, Lieutenant Andy Flynn_ in her marriage vows, and she'd laughed herself breathless.

 _What if I had been asleep already_ she typed back. It was awkward with one hand, so she left the punctuation out.

 _But_ _you weren_ _'_ _t babe._ _You_ _and em are either having a gigglefest or a deep conversation and it_ _'_ _ll keep you up either_ _way._

 _You have to get some sleep too_

 _I will._ _Headed_ _to bed now._ _I_ _think the boys are going to stay up all night playing video games_ _and_ _talking._ _Seems_ _to be going well._

 _good._ _I_ _love you and good night_

 _Sweet_ _dreams. I_ _'_ _ll see you in the morning._

Sharon smiled to herself and replaced the phone on the nightstand again. She settled her arm over Emily, and pulled the blanket up a little farther. Emily shifted slightly, the bed creaking beneath her, but didn't wake.

"Good night," Sharon whispered. She closed her eyes, taking Andy's advice to heart. _Good night,_ she was the last thing she thought before drifting to sleep. _Never goodbye._

* * *

 _ **The phone contact info- I remember that was what it was set as as some point, and I don't recall ever seeing it as anything else.**_ **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**

 _ **There's another traditional blessing. I didn't feel it would work in the conversation here, but it's Sharon to a tee, so I wanted to show you if you don't know it. "May God grant you many years to live, for sure He must be knowing the earth has angels all too few, and heaven is overflowing."**_


	17. Hands

**A/N- For those of you who haven't seen Hot Fuzz, that's where the grasshopper line is from. Not a total non sequitur (; Sorry it's been such a wait between chapters. I wanted to get this in before the Big Event, but I also am ready to move along haha. . . I suppose there are advantages to pre-planning what you're going to write. Enjoy.**

 **Y'all should also check out notunbroken's Resilient/Resolve duo, if you're looking for more 6.09 AU. It's gold.**

* * *

 _If I could tell the world just one thing / It would be that we're all ok_  
 _And not to worry because worry is wasteful / And useless in times like these_  
 _I will not be made useless / I won't be idled with despair_  
 _I will gather myself around my faith / For light does the darkness most fear_

 _-Jewel_

* * *

"So-o." Provenza drew out the word as he leaned back in his chair. "Sergeant Charles Flynn of the N-Y-P-D." He spelled it slowly like he always did with the FBI. "What's your take on this?"

Charlie leaned into the whiteboard to examine a screen-capture printout from a security camera. Sharon had been released from the hospital on Saturday, and he was staying with them until Friday, when he flew back home. It was Monday, and he had come to work with Sharon and his father since he wasn't sure what else he'd do. Ricky had left that morning and Emily was with Nicole. "You've got a series of ATM robberies and you're just now linking them together?"

Provenza frowned. The robberies had belonged to Hollywood, and _they_ had linked them and _then_ passed the larger, singular case on to Major Crimes at Central. "Now see here-"

"I'm just laying out my thinking, Detective, that's all," Charlie cut him off. "I just wanted to know how far back these dates go. Are you sure you've got them all?"

Nolan leaned back in his chair. He liked having Charlie Flynn around. It was nice to have another guy his own age in the murder room, and even more fun to have someone else annoy Lieutenant Provenza. "We think so. Robbery's put a flag on everything with ATMs, and they'll look into anything that comes up before releasing the case to whoever originally caught it or giving it to us. Or taking for themselves. They're looking at old open cases from the last three months before the first time we _know_ this crew struck."

"Sounds like you've got a friend down there," Charlie muttered. "Are you thinking this is gang-related?"

"No indications of any known gangs," Tao cut in. "No one is reporting any chatter, either." He stood up and joined Charlie at the board. "See this man here-" he tapped a figure in a hoodie in a frame from one of the cameras. "-is in all of our footage. He either knows where the camera is or he's extraordinarily lucky, because we haven't seen his face yet. I'm leaning towards smart, since he wears gloves, too."

"Is there a partner or a driver?"

"And that's where we're divided," Andy told him. "Mike, can you-?"

"Yeah, yeah." Tao turned to the computer on the rolling cart to pull up the video footage.

"So, kid," Andy said. "I think that the guy has a partner that is in some of the security footage. Provenza thinks I'm seeing things and says the guy must have a driver, since he gets away so fast."

"And everyone else?" Charlie looked back at them.

"Partner," Amy announced.

"Driver," Cami and Nolan both replied.

Buzz sighed. "I'm going to say both. The woman is in at least three of the security films, but I don't think she was driving in those shoes."

Provenza groaned. "Ye-e gods."

Charlie watched in amusement as the room dissolved into grumbling and well-planned arguments. Movement caught his eye, and he caught his step-mother's eye though the glass wall of her office. She was in a meeting with a blonde woman in uniform, but clearly understood what was going on by watching. She shook her head and smirked at him, leading the other woman to turn around. The blonde visibly scoffed, then rolled her eyes and turned back to the Commander, both of them laughing.

"Here we go!" Mike said loudly. He pulled out a laser pointer as the footage rolled. "Here. . . you see someone in a sun-hat go by on the sidewalk."

Charlie frowned. The grainy film only caught her for a second, and all he could see was a long, dark coat and the hat. Nice legs.

"And nothing on the second one, but on the third you see a woman walk by, facing the camera this time."

This time, there was a dark-haired young woman in a grey beret and a dark coat. The film quality wasn't great, so he couldn't tell much else about her.

"Could be," he said. "I mean, is there anything going for her except that there's a navy trench in the first one, too? Those have gotta be a dime a dozen out here."

His father sighed. "Okay, look. She can clearly see the robbery. No emotional response, no change in pace, doesn't even get her phone out."

"That's not hugely indicative. What links her to the first girl?"

"Same thing. Other witnesses reported shouting, clearly heard even a ways down the sidewalk. Lady in the jacket doesn't stop, doesn't turn around, doesn't even open Snaptalk or whatever that app is. It's like she knows what's going on."

Charlie wasn't convinced. "Anyone been able to run her down yet?"

"No. There's thousands of women like that. Five-five, five-six, white, dark hair, one-thirty, probably late twenties? Nah, not going to find her like that. We put out a BOLO with a cleaned up still image, but nothing's turned up yet."

Sharon's office door swung open, and the last few words of their conversation drifted along. "Thank you, Anne."

"The pleasure's all mine. I never thought. . ." Anne looked down.

"Never give up." Sharon passed her a slim file. "These are some of my contacts from over the years. As far as I know, they're up to date. Let me know if you've got issues or questions."

"I appreciate that you're easing me into this."

"It's not too much?" Sharon watched the other woman carefully. She had formally extended the offer of the Women's Coordinator position to Anne the previous week, and the woman had accepted two days later. Sharon was glad that she had already organized the binders and files she had accumulated as coordinator. There were nearly fifteen years of work to put together, and it had taken a while. She had kept copies of her contacts' information and old information that Anne wouldn't need. The rest of it went into a neatly-organized box that she'd sent to the other woman's office already.

"No. It was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one."

"Good."

Anne tucked the folder under one arm. "I'm glad you're still going to be here, though. I'm not sure I'm ready for this, but I'm ready to try, with your help."

Sharon smiled widely. "You're more than ready. I think-" she leaned in momentarily. "I think that you will fly on your own wings, Commander, but I will be here if you have any questions."

They said their goodbyes, and Anne left the room, glancing through her file. Sharon turned to observe for a few minutes as Buzz explained his three-man-crew idea.

She chose the moment he finished to leave the room. Andy jerked his head in the direction she had gone and stood to follow her as Provenza nodded.

By the time he got out the door, his wife had vanished. He listened for a moment, then followed the sound of clicking heels. She had gone to the break room, and he found her pouring a packet of oatmeal into a bowl.

"How'd your meeting go?" The one with McGinnis had been her second of the day. She had been in Pope's office first, presenting her idea about electric cars to the finance committee. Andy hadn't gotten a chance to speak to her after that, but he got the impression it hadn't gone well. She'd been distinctly sour for a while when she'd returned to the murder room.

Sharon turned in surprise. "Hi."

"Hey." He wrapped his arms over her shoulders. "Anne?"

"She's going to do just fine. She underestimates herself."

"Reminds me of someone I know."

She chuckled softly and slipped the bowl into the microwave.

He was surprised. Even when Ricky had cooked his St. Patrick's special, she hadn't done much more than nibble on it. "Second breakfast?"

She laughed outright this time. "I'm hungry."

"I'm not complainin'. Just surprised."

"Hmm." The timer beeped, and she pulled the bowl back out. He watched in some amusement as she pulled a jar of peanut butter off her shelf and mixed in a large spoonful. Back, not even a year after she'd moved into the department, she'd used Provenza's label maker- for a good cause, not annoyance, likely for the first time in its life- and reorganized the break room.

* * *

 _"Have_ _you seen what the damn woman_ _'_ _s done now?_ _"_

 _"_ _Huh?_ _"_ _It was early, and to be honest, Andy wasn_ _'_ _t totally awake yet. He_ _'_ _d rolled out of bed, and it had been Provenza_ _'_ _s turn to drive, so the old man had picked him up and Andy hadn_ _'_ _t even needed to be awake enough to drive. Much like Provenza_ _'_ _s mood, the scene had been dark, overcast, and then it had begun to rain._

 _He_ _'_ _d admired Captain Raydor for showing up to the scene dressed impeccably as always. The rain had gotten the better of her_ _efforts with her_ _straightening iron, though, and her hair began to fall into unruly waves. She_ _'_ _d eventually just pulled the mess up into a ponytail with a tie from one of her pockets. Andy was fairly sure the weather wasn_ _'_ _t bothering her, even though she was the one to suggest they all return to the office. It was cold, and the rain had washed away any trace evidence they might find._

 _"Stop daydreaming about her_ _, Flynn,_ _"_ _Provenza hissed._ _"_ _Look at this._ _"_ _He pulled one of the cabinets open and it didn_ _'_ _t look any different than Andy remembered for a moment._

 _"_ _Oh._ _"_ _He shrugged and reached for the coffee pot. It had finally stopped percolating, and he poured a cup._

 _"_ _Oh?! She reorganized everything! She labelled the shelves and, and-_ _"_

 _Andy stopped listening as his partner continued to sputter about the Captain_ _'_ _s organizational methods. He stepped closer to better see what she_ _'_ _d done._

 _Each shelf had two names on it, one on each end, with the person_ _'_ _s belongings more or less in the right place. Andy frowned, looking closely._ _The_ _section of shelf with his name held his chipped mug, powdered creamer, a box of toothpicks,_ _banana chips, as well as Provenza_ _'_ _s mug, someone_ _'_ _s spoon,_ _and one of Julio_ _'_ _s bottles of hot sauce. It was the same mess as always._

 _"_ _You know, I don_ _'_ _t think she actually touched anything._ _"_

 _"What?_ _"_ _Provenza finally stopped talking._

 _"_ _I think she just put labels on the shelf in the hopes we_ _'_ _d get it together._ _"_ _Andy could feel Provenza leaning over his shoulder, looking. It was a curious move on her part, he thought. It was much like her take-over of the department. She was put in place for the purpose of organizing the squad, but she wanted it to occur on their terms. He could tell that she_ _didn't want to force them into change; she suggested ideas and guided them, but rarely made outright demands like she had from FID. He pulled Provenza_ _'_ _s mug off his shelf and slid it onto the other man_ _'_ _s section._

 _"_ _Ye gods, don_ _'_ _t tell me you actually_ agree _with her."_

* * *

"Andy?"

"Huh?"

"I lost you for a minute there. Penny?"

He shook his head. "Just thinking about how much Provenza moaned about you abducting his label-maker in the beginning."

She frowned. "What?"

He waved his had at the labelled shelves and the canister that held trail mix on the counter. "Wasn't this you?"

"No." She looked up at him quizzically. "It's always been this way."

"You aren't kidding?"

"No." She set her oatmeal down. "Wha-"

"It got all labelled up when you transferred." He felt silent. Six years. Six years they'd all been wrong. _Who in the hell-?_

"Sykes!" They said in unison.

Sharon laughed outright. "Oh, gods, it makes so much sense. She is _meticulous._ "

"I can't wait to see Provenza's face when-" Andy stopped. "You know what?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm not going to tell him. I think we should tell everyone but him and enjoy knowing that he doesn't."

Almost reflexively, Sharon readied to remind him about Amy's inability to keep secrets. It had become a slight joke over the years. _If you want everyone to know, just tell Amy._ "If it was her, she's kept this secret for _years._ "

Andy shook his head. "She just keeps surprising me. I never would have guessed. I just always assumed it was you."

"Mm." She picked up her bowl again and sauntered toward the door. "I'd say that'd assumptions make an ass of you and me, but you're already an ass, so. . ." She pulled the door open, waiting for him.

"I'm going to lodge a complaint that my CO is calling me names."

"Honey, I'm just repeating old news." She flashed him a smirk that brought back old memories. She let the door go and he had to lunge forward to catch it and follow her out.

"I suppose I deserve that one." He jogged a few steps to catch up to her. "I may have called you a name or two, back in the day, so I had it coming."

"Mm. Just one or two?" She was deliberately not looking at him, and he could tell she was fighting a smile.

"Yeah, and back in the day," he repeated. "Way back. Years ago."

She chuckled. "Alright." She pulled the door open and let him back in. They hadn't gotten two steps before Provenza's voice rang out sharply.

"Commander!"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

Charlie could hear the easy patience in her voice. It sounded practiced, but there was still a sharp undercurrent. She'd only put up with so much, and he suspected Provenza knew exactly how far he could push her.

"New York here thinks he can guess which ATM this crew is going to hit next, and he wants to stake it out." Provenza tapped his crossword against the table.

Sharon looked at her son-in-law. "Detective Flynn?"

Andy groaned.

Charlie stood up and walked to the map of downtown pinned to the board. "They hit places with ATMs separate from the bank proper. You know, those little vestibules or whatever. Floor to ceiling windows. Busy streets, from what your guys say, ma'am." It wasn't his dad's new wife Call-Me-Sharon-Please he was talking to. It was Commander Raydor.

"And?"

"And so I think there are three good possibilities for their next shot. It's been five days since the last robbery, so if they stick to their pattern, there should be another tomorrow or the day after."

Sharon raised a brow, thinking it over. "Gentlemen, ladies, your take?"

"Solid," Mike called. "We've put together a list of ATMs and banks fitting those criteria, and it's really not too many within the radius we're looking at."

Amy shrugged, and Cami spoke for both of them. "Seems like a rational idea. I mean, it fits with everything we know."

Sharon glanced down at Provenza. "Lieutenant?"

He sighed heavily. "Not bad, but if we want him in on this, we'll have to officially request him from the NYPD."

"Shouldn't be too hard."

Charlie looked back at her. "I'm okay with stepping back on this if you don't want to wait on the paperwork and everything. Paperwork doesn't go real fast back there, especially if it's not for one of the big dogs."

Sharon shook her head. "No, take credit for what you've done, Detective. The big dogs are often the laziest." She winked at him, and he almost missed it. "I've got some friends in New York, and I'll see if they can hurry it along. We're also going to need warrants to set up shop at the ATMs you've selected, so let's get working on that. If we can get them to Andrea within the next couple hours, we can get them signed by a judge before we go home for the night."

Wes groaned. "Commander, are we skipping lunch?"

Provenza pulled his drawer open and pulled out a sheaf of take-out menus. "That's the problem with adding younger and younger detectives to the squad _._ They need to be fed every couple hours, just like the grandkids."

Sharon rolled her eyes, smiling. "Take a break from this, order lunch, and I'll see about requisitioning an NYPD officer."

"Hey, uh, Sharon?" Charlie sounded hesitant.

She turned, surprised that he had called her by name. "Yes?"

He raised a finger to his upper lip and rubbed. He could see blood starting to drip from her nose.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered quietly.

Provenza's jaw nearly hit his desk. That was his phrase, and he'd never heard her utter more than a single _dammit_ on any occasion. He almost laughed, then sobered when he noticed why she was digging through her pockets. He stood, took the step to her side and drew his handkerchief from his pocket. "Here."

She took it and pressed it to her nose. "Thank you."

"Are you okay?" he asked. The room had fallen deathly silent.

"Yes." She smiled at him from behind the bloodied cotton. "It's quite alright."

"Yeah?" Provenza scoffed slightly.

"Louie," she softened. "I promise. It's a side effect of the blood thinners. It happens." She finished forcefully, effectively ending the conversation.

Provenza looked to his partner for confirmation, and Andy nodded. The first time it _happened_ , as Sharon put it, they had been at Mass, and it had scared the hell out of Father Stan. Andy would have found it funny if he hadn't been so surprised, too.

"Okay." Provenza turned away. "You all heard the Commander. Let's get rolling on lunch." He picked up the stack of menus and carried them over to the empty desk where the others were gathering to sort through their choices, surreptitiously leaving a space for Sharon on his desk. She settled on it, and Andy dropped into his chair, watching her.

"Is that nosebleed drying up yet?"

She pulled the kerchief away and dabbed under her nose with a finger. "Maybe. It's not too bad." The last one had nearly ruined a nice blouse. Thankfully, the blood had come out with a cold soak in the kitchen sink. She had made sure to keep a package of tissues in her purse after that. "Are you going to go pick out lunch?"

"I will. What do you want?"

She shrugged. "I'll come look." She reached down with her free hand and tangled her fingers with his, swinging their joined hands as they walked over to the rest of the squad. "Have you decided?"

Wes was engrossed in a Corona Village menu, with both Charlie and Cami peering over his shoulders. "Mexican?" No one dissented, so he began collecting orders on his notepad. Sharon almost laughed. Nearly everyone picked some sort of chicken dish, either enchiladas or burritos, refried beans and rice. For all her squad's personal differences, they were remarkably similar.

Wes paused when he came to her. "Let me guess."

"Chicken salad," Charlie cut in. "Grilled."

Wes sighed heavily. "Dude."

"What?"

"That was my guess. But I'm also calling no sour cream, guac on the side."

They both turned to look at Sharon, and she nodded. "With whatever the salsa of the day is, please." She wrinkled her nose as Charlie and Wes high-fived with a loud crack.

Provenza pulled a card out of his wallet and passed it to Wes. "I trust you slightly more than Flynn Junior, here." He waved a finger at the others. "Payback in the form of cash or IOUs is acceptable."

The two young men left the room arguing good-naturedly about who would drive and shouldering each other with increasing force. Sharon finally turned away after Charlie checked Wes into the doorframe. "Boys." She neatly palmed Provenza's handkerchief and surveyed the room. "I'm going to work on officially asking for Charlie's help. Could you start getting warrants for the banks on Mike's list?"

"Tao, Buzz, Flynn, get on it. Sykes, see if you can start working on a judge to sign 'em. Cami, I want you to brief Hobbs on this." Provenza paused. "If that works for you, Commander."

"Yes." She was surprised by his quick leadership. It wasn't that she didn't think him capable, but just she wasn't used to it. After a moment, she realized that he had probably been doing it for weeks while she was out sick. "Thank you, Lieutenant." The team dispersed to their jobs, and she disappeared into her office, bright and airy once again.

"Flynn?" Provenza asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

They walked to their desks, and began opening blank forms on their computers to print out and fill in.

"She's okay to be here?"

Andy chuckled slightly. "Yeah."

"You're sure."

"Yeah, old man. Her doc cleared her again, don't worry."

Provenza leaned around his monitor to look at his partner. "That's not all I mean. Clearance is just part of it. I want the whole enchilada, Flynn." He waved his hands. "Is she good to be here? I don't want her overworking herself and not being in top form for whenever this heart transplant thing is going to happen."

Andy rummaged through his drawer for a toothpick. "Yeah, she's okay. It's like she said. Every time we go in to her appointments, they jigger her meds around to compensate for something one of 'em's doing, and a different one starts screwing with her. This time it's nosebleeds from the Warfarin. I'm hoping everything will even out before much longer."

Provenza sighed, appeased at last. "I'm sorry, Flynn. I hope she gets her heart soon."

"So do I."

"It seems strange, doesn't it, hoping someone will die?" Amy spun around in her chair and got up to walk to the printer. "I mean, I don't want someone to die, but I. . . do."

"You nailed it, Sykes."

She dropped a couple dimes into Provenza's jar on the printer, then passed him a ten. "I'm going to settle my debts now."

Andy reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet, but looked up when Provenza made a quiet noise of disapproval. "What?"

"I've got this one covered."

"What?" He must have misheard.

"I said, you're not paying me back this time."

"Why n-"

"I've told you before that I can cover this. I can get you a cup of coffee or whatever salad of the week your wife wants." Provenza leaned in so only Andy could hear. "Let me help you, Flynn. You're my partner, and partners help each other out."

After a moment, Andy nodded. "Thanks." It was uncomfortable, accepting help like that, but he wasn't fool enough to say no. What Provenza had said was true: partners helped one another. Finances weren't so tight that Andy was truly concerned, but he was on edge. He had discussed taking out a pension loan with Sharon, but they were hoping to avoid that if possible. It all depended on how much of the transplant itself her insurance covered.

"Yeah." Provenza sat back in his chair. "But if you really want to pay me back, you can finish this report for me. That's almost worth more than cash."

* * *

Rusty peeled the Syran wrap off the plate of pizza from the fridge. It was homemade and Sharon-approved, with a crust made of cauliflower and egg white.

Charlie leaned over his shoulder and stared at the pizza.

"Yeah," Rusty said. "I. . . just, I mean they try, but this isn't pizza."

"No. It's a goddamn crime against humanity." Charlie was blunt about it. When it was hot, the so-called pizza was alright, but cold. . . He wasn't interested.

"Are you talking about Mom's pizza?" Emily peered around the fridge door.

"The not-pizza? Yeah." Charlie pushed the plastic wrap down again and put the plate back in the fridge.

Emily groaned. "I'm still hungry. Does she have anything else here? I had pizza in Paris once, and let me just say, that was so much better than here, even _before_ someone invented riced cauliflower."

Rusty opened the fridge again as Charlie started quietly looking through the cabinets. Sharon and Andy had retired earlier, after she had started nodding off as Emily and Ricky talked about New York.

Emily hoisted herself onto the counter and watched. "Want to just order some real pizza?"

"You want to get food this late?" Rusty was surprised. It was past ten. Over the years, he had learned that while Emily chose her food carefully and based on macros, she was a bottomless pit. Sharon had joked that Emily's legs were hollow, helping her flexibility and her appetite.

She raised an eyebrow in an eerily good impression of Sharon. "We still have things to discuss, and I was under the impression we'd break out the movies once Mom and Andy went to bed."

Emily had brought her infamous stash of explosive adventure films. Rusty suspected some of them were bootlegs and that was more the reason for keeping the collection quiet than fear of her mother's opinion of the actual movies. She had brought a different selection every time she came to LA and quickly won Rusty's affection that way, since Sharon's shelf was far more boring.

"Yeah. Want to go get them? Charlie and I can get the pizza ordered." He cut her off. "Pineapple and ham, I know."

Emily left them alone to go collect her DVDs from the bottom of her suitcase.

"She ate pizza in Paris, and she still wants pineapple on it?"

Rusty shrugged. "Haven't you figured out this whole family is a little weird?"

"Yeah, that's true." Charlie pulled his phone out. "I've got the Domino's app." He leaned on the counter next to Rusty so they could both see the screen. "You all are weird, but it's the good kind of weird, I think."

"Thanks?"

He laughed. "Yeah. It's just strange, seeing my dad as part of a cohesive family unit, you know? Not that he wasn't part of my life as a kid, 'cause he was, but he was separate. Nic and I stayed with Mom, and Dad would come by or we met him places, and then. . ." Charlie was quiet as they picked toppings. "I don't even really remember why I got mad at him in the first place. I guess I was just pissed at him not being around, at his dumb girlfriends, and how hard I always saw Mom working to get me and Nic through school. I mean, Dad put me through college, but he was so far away, and so I couldn't see that he was working for the money, too. The girlfriends, though. . ." Charlie rolled his eyes, and Rusty laughed. "Sorry, that's probably a little weird to bring up since he and Sharon, you know."

"No, it's cool. It's kind of funny, because they didn't get along at all when I first met them. I met your dad first, then Sharon, and I don't think anyone got along with her, actually."

"Really?" Charlie was surprised. Her team had seemed very cohesive and protective of each other, Sharon included. He knew the kid had been with Sharon for years, now, and had always assumed he'd met her first.

"Yeah. The first couple months I lived with her were kind of a shitshow. I guess she got transferred to Major Crimes from IA and she had just done some massive audit of th-"

"Oh." He understood. "They probably hated her guts."

"Yeah, that was the impression I got." Rusty shrugged. "To be honest, I kind of hated her a lot, I guess, at the beginning." Enough time had passed since that stage that it no longer felt bad to admit. It was funny now, almost. Sharon liked to occasionally remind him about the time she kicked him off the sofa and he promptly spilled chips all over it after sleeping on it for nearly two weeks. _That poor sofa was never the same_ , she'd tell him.

"Really?" Charlie asked again. That seemed to be his word of the week.

"Yeah. She was really cool about it though. She told me she was good at putting up with ingratitude."

Charlie laughed at that. "Christ. You were what, fifteen, sixteen?"

"Sixteen, yeah." It was strange being so open about his past with someone. It wasn't his _past_ past, but it was still more than he usually said.

"When did she and Dad get together?" Charlie hadn't followed his father so closely that he knew the ins and outs of Andy's life. He'd tried to avoid the personal things, to be honest. After the second thirty-something blonde girlfriend, Charlie had stopped paying attention. There had been a gap, several years, where he hadn't heard anything, and he'd assumed Nic had finally stopped trying to slip him bits about their dad's life.

And then there had been Sharon. Nic had mentioned it off-handedly, _Dad_ _'_ _s bringing someone to the wedding, just. . . a head_ _s up. He said she_ _'_ _s only a friend from work._ Charlie hadn't talked to Andy at the wedding, hadn't really noticed Sharon at all, except that his dad had a well-dressed shadow.

Then it was _Dad's bringing that lady to the Nutcracker, a_ nd _she seems cool. I mean, it wasn't like we talked much, but she seemed nice and a hell of a lot sharper than the last one._ Finally, it was a rapid series of updates about the new woman:

 _Sharon's invited us over for dinner._

 _Dad wants me and Dean to come to his work Christmas party._

 _Chuck, I think Dad and Sharon are pretty serious. You should give him a call._

 _Charlie, for the love of God, call Dad._

 _I swear to God I will come out and whoop your butt myself if you don't at least call him before they get married._

And then just a few weeks before, she'd called and left a message, thoroughly annoyed. _Charles Andrew, call Dad. I really think you'd like Sharon. Even Mom likes her. Just give it the old college try. She's not doing real good, and I think you should meet her before. . . Well, even if you hate her, Char, even if you're still pissed at Dad afterward, it'll mean a lot to him that you tried. Do it for me?_

It was the last call that had gotten him. He'd given his father a call for Nicole, and then made the flight out for his dad. It was easy to like the Raydor kids, he'd found. They had the same kind of past as he did, and they still came out okay. Sharon was the same way. She wasn't what he'd been expecting, and she was warm and understanding and someone who subtly demanded his respect.

He and his dad were doing better. The first couple nights had been rough, unpacking years of frustration and disconnection while they were the only ones awake in the condo. There was still a ways to go before it could be called a good relationship, but the door had opened.

Rusty shook his head and snorted returning to the dating disaster of years past. "You don't wanna know. They were both totally weird about it. He asked her to come to your sister's wedding because he was kind of scared of your mom, and then there was this whole thing-" he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "She was technically married, so they didn't technically go out until after, but. . ." He checked to be sure that Emily wasn't coming back and lowered his voice further. "I'm just telling you this so you get the whole picture, and I think you deserve that, but keep it quiet?"

"Of course." Charlie had been picking up pieces from everyone, and thought he pretty much had most of it figured out, but almost everything about Sharon's recent past was still a mystery. Emily had filled him in on the broad strokes of her mother, and Ricky had added some small detail. They had both left home before their mother took over Major Crimes, so they didn't know that part of the story as well. They had told him to talk to Rusty and warned that it may be difficult to pry answers out.

"So, her ex-husband was basically a total asshole. Like, he'd come by when he needed a place to stay and just gave her a hard time about it, but I guess that was the norm since Rick and Em were little, and she didn't want to divorce him because of the whole Catholic thing. And some financial stuff, I guess. But then she wanted to adopt me. _"_ Rusty stopped. "I guess that wasn't really in Jack's life plan, and he wouldn't sign the papers, so she divorced him."

"Woah." _That_ was a power move.

"Yeah. Then she and Andy started going out, and your dad got sick, and she pretty much made him move in here because she was worried, and the rest is history, I guess."

There was a clatter from the living room as Emily dumped her DVDs on the coffee table. She came into the kitchen a moment later. "Sorry, I was talking to Mom. I'm thinking I'll try and take her to breakfast tomorrow before she has to go to work. You guys are welcome to join."

"Depends on how late we stay up," Charlie told her.

"Oh come on, Mr. New York PD. I'm sure you pull night tours sometimes and then take your girlfriend out when you get off. What's her name again?" She was fishing, and Charlie knew it.

"I told you on the plane. She's not ready to meet the family, and I know if I tell one of you her name, I may as well tell all of you and hand you a printout of her basic information, too."

Emily pursed her lips and shook her head. "You're going to slip up sometime."

Rusty laughed. "You may have finally met your match, Em." He turned his head suddenly, hearing something. "I think the pizza guy's here. I'm gonna grab the door before he knocks." He slipped around the corner of the fridge with his wallet.

Emily looked up at her newest brother. "I heard some of that," she said softly.

Charlie flushed slightly. "Sorry."

"Nah." She brushed past to retrieve plates and napkins. "Don't be. Dad's- well, Ricky started calling him the Jackass a few years back, and that about sums everything up. I just wanted to tell you that before you go thinking Mom's some kind of white horse or whatever, you should know that your dad did a lot of good for her, too. I haven't seen her this happy since. . ." Emily trailed off as she lead the way into the living room. "I don't remember her ever being this happy," she said finally. "I mean, yeah, I think she was happy with me and Ricky and then with Rusty, but. . . this is like the next level, you know? Like God-tier happiness."

"Yeah?"

"Mm. He really takes good care of her. I mean, he's been _here_ every day since she got sick. She doesn't like talking about it, but she's said that he's been at every appointment, makes sure she gets her meds right, tries to stay at the hospital overnight with her every time she's there. I mean it goes beyond that, too, but. . ." she shrugged. "Enough heavy stuff for now. Let's pick a movie?"

"Sure."

They moved over to make room for Rusty as he dropped the pizza box on the table. "What are we watching?"

Charlie looked at the selection, then reached for the same one Emily did.

"Hot Fuzz. I should have guessed that with this family," Rusty laughed.

Emily elbowed him and stretched out over the sofa. "Fuck off, grasshopper."

* * *

Sharon took a sip from her mug of tea, watching as Andy changed out of his suit and into pajamas. The boys and Emily were both still out in the living room. When Sharon had turned in, they had been cheerfully arguing over chess techniques, Rusty's board between him and Charlie. Her son had been thrilled to finally have a family member who played. Emily had stuck her head in a few minutes before with an armful of movies, so Sharon knew someone had finally won the chess game.

"Charlie did some good work today," she said lightly. The warrants had been drawn up and signed, ready for execution in the morning. Field support was arranged and the chiefs had been briefed. In short, everything had gone perfectly for once.

"Yeah." Andy pulled a worn green shirt over his head. "I'm pretty impressed, honestly. You got him officially requisitioned, too, right?"

"Yes."

"That was fast."

"Like I said, I've got friends over there. Some people I've met at conferences over the years. I cashed in a few chips I stored up. Charlie's CO was a little surprised, I think, but he warmed up after he remembered you work for the LAPD. He just told me I'm not allowed to try and convert Charlie to the West Coast; he wants him back."

"I'm glad to hear it." Andy disappeared into the bathroom. "Means he's doing good work."

"The NYPD may be the best department in the world, you know."

"Don't let Pope hear you say that."

Sharon chuckled. "Oh, he knows he- _we,_ really- have got room for improvement."

"Don't we all know it." Andy returned, bringing the scent of mint toothpaste with him.

"Well. . ." Sharon set her mug aside. "As long as racial and gender inequality makes the headlines, we need to be improving." Her mouth twisted. "Sometimes I can't believe what I read."

Andy shook his head. "I want to argue that it's just a few bad apples, that most departments are made of decent people, but it only takes a few to spoil the barrel, as the saying goes."

Sharon nodded grimly. "I thought I had a hard time in IA, but Ellis is having it worse. I can hardly imagine. He's dealing with things on a monthly basis that I dealt with maybe once or twice a year."

"He keeps in touch?"

"Yes. He still calls sometimes for advice sometimes. I have the sheer years' worth of experience on my side, but he's going to have more of these types of cases soon enough." She sighed. "Let's change the subject."

Andy flipped the covers back and settled next to her. "Your birthday is tomorrow."

"Oh." She made a small noise under her breath.

"What?" He grinned at her. "Your sense of occasion doesn't cover your own birthday?"

"No," she grumbled. "It doesn't."

"You like celebrating everyone else's."

"I don't feel the need to celebrate myself."

He laughed. "That is perhaps the worst argument I've heard from you."

"Well," she trailed off. There wasn't a reason for not celebrating. She just never had. For her, it was more fun giving than receiving.

"I see the need to celebrate you."

"Mm."

He leaned over and kissed her. "I think I'm pretty good at celebrating birthdays." He had taken her out before on her birthday, both with the squad and alone. The year before, he had taken her up the coast to El Matador, where they'd spent a blissfully quiet evening. He hoped to repeat the trip sometime, but they had to stay within an hour's drive of the hospital this year.

She smirked at him. "I'll agree to that."

"What would you like?"

"You haven't planned something already?" She was surprised. He was more the _ask-forgiveness-later_ type.

"Nah. It's been a rough couple months, and I didn't want blindside you with anything if you weren't feeling up to it."

 _Oh._ She leaned into him, wrapping her arm around his chest. He was so thoughtful, this man of hers, so unlike Jack. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

He reached down and stroked her back with his free hand. "I said I didn't do anything, but I think the guys are planning a little thing at work. Just us, nothing big."

"Thank you for the heads up." She didn't personally like surprises much. She liked to know her schedule and have everything occur when she was expecting it to. Andy had figured that out without her having to explicitly state it, which she was grateful for, and would tip her off to the majority of Provenza's surprises. The lieutenant didn't know, she didn't think. She was good at faking surprise, and generally her own genuine excitement would soon surface. She wasn't entirely sure why she didn't like twists in her plans, since she hadn't minded when she was younger, but she suspected it had to do with her first marriage. There had been more than enough unplanned surprises to last a lifetime.

"I did get you a little something, though."

"Oh, you didn't need to." The words slipped out almost automatically.

He grinned at her. "Trust me, I did need to. What kind of husband would I be skipping your birthday? Besides, I had to off-set the Medicare card the feds sent you."

She groaned. "Don't remind me."

"You hardly look a day over eighteen." He laughed when she rolled her eyes at him, fighting a smile. "Don't worry. It's just a few little things, nothing big. The other two things you get tomorrow, but-" he rolled away from her and reached into the drawer of his nightstand. "You can have this one now." He passed her a rather large, square package. "I noticed you've been re-reading your books lately, so I thought you might want to shake it up a little."

She turned what she now knew was a book over and began undoing the wrapping paper. Andy settled back against the pillows, content to watch. She smoothed the paper back to reveal a black and green hardcover, imprinted with leaves.

"Walden."

"I read it for the first time when I was getting sober. It's. . . It's hard to explain what it's about exactly. Kind of about living well with what you have and learning from the world around you. I thought you might like it, especially now that you'll have time to kill right after the transplant."

"Thank you." There was something he wasn't saying about the book, but she suspected he also couldn't put it into words, something too emotional to speak of.

"I'm not done yet. Pick it up, babe."

She did as he said and found a thinner, smaller book underneath. It didn't have anything on the cover, just plain dark red fabric. "What is this?" She opened it as she spoke. "Oh. . . _Andy._ "

He pushed himself up on one elbow. "It was a group effort."

"Oh." She turned the pages slowly, not reading, but just taking it in. It had been a blank book at one point, but now was filled with poetry in four different, distinct scripts.

"The kids and I went through your bookshelves, and copied down the stuff we liked best."

"It's beautiful." It was. There was Carl Sandburg in Ricky's blocky print and Emily Dickinson in Emily's cursive, ironically. Rusty had picked A. A. Milne. Somehow, the choices seemed fitting. All three of the kids had written down several poems, but most of the book was in Andy's hand, pages and pages.

"I know you like Frost and Keillor," he said awkwardly when she paused, holding the first page of Robert Frost's _Birches._ "So. . . yeah. Happy Birthday, Sharon."

She set the book down gently and leaned over to hug him. "Thank you. This is. . . perhaps the most thoughtful gift I've ever received."

He shrugged again, still uncomfortable with the praise. "Like I said, group effort."

She hummed skeptically. "I'll be sure to issue a group thank you, then, but since you're here. . ." She set the books back in the paper and placed the package on her nightstand. "I wouldn't mind telling you now."

"You already did." He hadn't been sure about his choices, but the expression on her face when she looked at the books assuaged his concern.

"Mm, you _do_ know that mouths can be used for more than just speaking, yes?" She looked at him askance as she pulled her glasses off. They fit her face well, not too loosely, but they started slipping down her nose if she did anything more brisk than jog on a treadmill. She could still make out his expression without them, and she watched for his moment of realization. She laughed as it slowly dawned on him. "And you call yourself a detective."

"Well, my boss has been keeping me cooped up in the office, so I think everything I've learned has started to leak out my ears." He tempered his words with a smile, but she gave back as good as she got.

"Maybe you ought to have a word with her," she said slowly. "Tell her you want to go run around with the young ones more often. Sykes, Nolan. . . Provenza. Let her know you can keep up with them." She sat back on her heels, grinning as he sputtered.

"Keep _him_ out of the bedroom." Andy finally managed to string the words together as Sharon laughed.

"Come here and make me."

"You're up to this, too?" He asked seriously. By the time they got home at night, she was usually tired, still not entirely back to full strength.

"It's been almost twelve weeks since the surgery," she reminded him. "I'm up for it." Technically, she had been limited to lifting items lighter than her FID rulebook- as Andy phrased it- until about a month back as she healed. Physical activity had also been capped, but her doctor had told her just to stop when it became uncomfortable. By the time she was allowed full rein of herself again, she was going back to work and too tired at night to do anything. Andy had been incredibly patient, and she was grateful. She also suspected he was as tired as she was, generally.

He broke into a smile. "Okay. If it's too much-"

"Andy." She leaned in towards his face. "Stop talking."

"Yes, ma'am."


	18. Atomic Number

_**A/N- Sorry for the gap, btw, and thank you for your patience. I haven't forgotten you. This has been in the works for the last couple months. I knew what I wanted to have happen, but I just didn't hav the time to beta it well until now. Thank you for continuing to read and review in my absence. I needed to take some time off to get through the home stretch of studying IRL. I just wrapped up my coursework and exams over the last month, and with some luck, I'll know if I passed the exams or not within another week. (: Thank you, thank you, thank you. Love, LFL**_

 _ **(notunbroken, blossom, and xbleeple- thanks for the extra encouragement between the last chapter and now!) (updated- Amy- thanks re: Dean)**_

 _Previously: Late March. Sharon and Andy_ _'_ _s kids come out to see her in the hospital, and celebrate both her birthday and St. Patrick_ _'_ _s day. Charlie reunites with his father_ _and_ _discovers his new step-mother and her kids aren't_ _what he expected. He accidentally lets it slip that he_ _'_ _s followed in his father_ _'_ _s footsteps and has joined the NYPD, whereupon Sharon requisitions him for a case. By the time this chapter picks up, it_ _'_ _s sometime in May._

* * *

 _Latin words across my heart / symbols of infinity_

 _elements so pure / atomic number._

 _-Neko Case/k. d. lang/Laura Veirs_

* * *

At long last, life started to fall back together, in Andy's opinion. Charlie and Wes were thrilled when their predictions with the ATM robberies worked out and they chased the man down after Amy caught the dark-haired woman. Buzz won the bet, unsurprisingly. There was a third person, a driver, though Buzz was somewhat put out to find the getaway car was a Prius: nondescript, but with the spare tire removed, it had a perfect hiding spot for a large amount of cash.

Charlie spent his week in LA dabbling with his father and step-mother's work and getting to know her side of the family at home. Emily was easy to get along with. She shared her mother's sharp humor, but was slightly less terrifying than the Commander. Ricky and Rusty were more similar than either of them would credit. Rusty was a little quieter than his older brother, but they were both. . . well, Charlie settled on _passionate about their causes._ Rusty worked with the DA's office, which demanded privacy, and Ricky was into some kind of secret work that he couldn't talk about, but they both could wax poetic about their fields over the dinner table. Charlie knew neither would admit it, but he suspected some of it was bravado, covering for long-standing insecurities. Nevertheless, they all got along well, falling into an easy friendship and taking turns teasing their parents. When they all left for home, they'd swapped phone numbers and Facebooks and made promises to keep in touch.

Meanwhile, Andy and Sharon hired Gavin's realtor. The man knew what he was doing and was far more efficient than the last clown they'd had. Within two months, they were closing on a house in Laurel Canyon and packing up the condo. The owners of the old house had moved out some time ago. Gavin's friend had said they were snowbirds who weren't interested in vacationing in the big city any more and were just looking to sell quickly.

Andy was glad the process happened so easily, and he knew they were lucky. They couldn't predict when Sharon would get a heart, but the sooner everything settled down, the better he'd feel. He didn't want to be trying to move with Sharon in the hospital, though on second thought, maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing. It would certainly keep her from over-exerting herself while trying to help.

Thankfully, the new house actually wasn't too far from the condo, so the move wasn't too bad, and both the commute and the neighborhood would be similar to Los Feliz. It was on a small, winding street with a raised, fenced yard and was largely hardwood and windows: old, but bright and airy. It was a two-bed-two-bath house with a third room they were planning on using as an office. Andy had groused about the price since the house wasn't much larger than the condo and was close to twice the cost even though the previous owners had lowballed, but Sharon had reminded him that thanks to inflation and property values, the condo was worth more than she'd paid, should they want to sell it. They were planning to keep it for Rusty to use during law school should he stay local, or lease it out to new tenants if not. The new house could be managed from what'd they'd gotten selling Andy's old place in Silver Lake, but the extra income from rent would be nice if they went down that route.

For once, Sharon had completely relinquished control, and let the movers pack and relocate almost everything. Some of the furniture would stay at the condo, but most of it was moving. It felt strange now, in a good way, to come home to the condo. The movers had transferred the art and smaller furniture and boxes to the house, and the condo felt somewhat naked. It was still clearly lived in, with its brightly painted walls and Rusty's books and possessions scattered across it. They had one more night in the condo, and then would complete the move to Laurel Canyon over the weekend.

When they got home, Sharon made a beeline for the dining table with a box of files from the office. Andy went to the kitchen to start on dinner. Rusty had taken the chicken out to defrost earlier in the day, and Nicole was coming over for dinner with Dean. They were leaving the boys at home with a babysitter. Andy knew Sharon wouldn't cop to it, but he suspected she was relieved to have a relatively quiet evening in.

"Babe?" He called.

"Mm?"

"Do you got the salad?" Rusty always gave Andy grief about his grammar, since Sharon would correct her son's but not her husband's. Sharon had told Rusty that she'd learned to pick her battles, and Andy's grammar was among the least of her worries.

"Yes. There're chopped vegetables in the blue Tupperware. I can throw it together in a minute."

Sharon dropped a yellow legal pad and a pen on the floor next to the stack of folders Andrea had given her earlier in the day. The lawyer had been through them already, carefully highlighting and annotating in her neat hand.

The files made up the beginning of the Stroh trial. The Californian one, at least. Andrea was still working with other attorneys across the country to figure out if Stroh would be extradited or not.

Personally, Sharon preferred he wasn't. She had told Andrea so, citing the adage about keeping enemies close. The blonde had agreed.

* * *

 _"_ _It_ _'_ _s not that I don_ _'_ _t trust other departments,_ _"_ _Sharon said slowly._ _"_ _But I_ _don't_ _._ _"_

 _Andrea shrugged, absently chewing on the end of her pen._ _"_ _I like knowing where he is and who_ _'_ _s in charge of him. If he goes out of state, we lose that._ _"_

 _"_ _This i_ _s personal._ _"_

 _There was a loud snap as the pen_ _'_ _s lid cracked in half. Andrea looked at it in surprise._ _"_ _This is why I buy the cheap_ _Bics._ _"_ _She set the pen down._ _"_ _It is personal. If he goes to another department, it_ _'_ _s one where he hasn_ _'_ _t terrorized Deputy Chiefs and cops_ _'_ _kids, k_ _illed j_ _udges and sent killers to our_ _homes . . It isn_ _'_ _t personal for anyone else._ _"_

 _"_ _Isn_ _'_ _t this what the justice system is supposed to prevent?_ _"_ _Sharon capped her highlighter._ _"_ _Personal feelings clouding our judgement?_ _"_

 _Andrea shrugged again._ _"_ _If we_ _'_ _re totally indifferent, isn_ _'_ _t that also an injustice? It_ _'_ _s a fine line, and we_ _'_ _re walking it with Stroh. I think it_ _'_ _s a pretty black and white case at this point, personal connections or no. If you_ _'_ _d asked me. . . even just a couple years ago, I would have told you differently. We have all his history now, and more murders that are concretely tied to him, that are undeniably him, that no amount of police_ _interference_ _could artificially tie him to. That was the fear before, you know?_ _"_ _She glanced up._ _"_ _My boss was l_ _eery_ _of prosecuting before he broke into your Chief_ _'_ _s house, because he thought Stroh would come back with charges of police_ _harassment_ _._ _"_

 _"_ _He would have been justified,_ _"_ _Sharon_ _muttered._ _"_ _To some degree. And it wasn_ _'_ _t undeserved. No one with any power would listen to her._ _"_

 _Andrea nodded._ _"_ _I know. I wonder sometimes. . ._ _"_ _she leaned back in her chair._ _"_ _Was it because she was a woman? Or an outsider? Or just, uh, a little abrasive? I mean, if we_ _'_ _d taken action then- God, how many lives could we have spared?_ _"_

 _"_ _You can_ _'_ _t think of it that way. Don_ _'_ _t torture yourself with what-ifs._ _"_

 _Andrea smirked at her friend._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _ll stop when you stop._ _"_ _She stretched her arms over her head._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m almost- not grateful- but, relieved perhaps, that we have all this new evidence_ _against_ _Stroh. I mean, I have enough charges to put him away for centuries. I don_ _'_ _t like that all of this happened, that he got out the first time, but now, even if we discount Rusty, we have enough to end him._ _"_

 _"_ _Discount Rusty?_ _"_

 _"_ _Yeah, I don_ _'_ _t know what Stroh_ _'_ _s going to plead, but I_ _'_ _m_ _guessing Rusty's either pretty far down on his list of priorities or he's going to try and destroy Rusty's credibility as a witness by saying you've been coaching him."_

 _Sharon rolled her eyes. "Emma brought this up a few years ago." They both fell silent for a moment. "She did have a point."_

 _"She did. And to an untrained eye, yeah, it looks like coaching." Andrea caught Sharon's frown. "Yeah, I know, but you gave the kid a home and an education- I can negate that, kids all need that- but you also gave him your spare car, kept him in your care- I can discount you breaking into the downstairs apartment that one time, that falls under witness protection- and then you adopted him and sent him to college, and_ I'm _mentoring him." Andrea laughed tiredly. "Honestly, I don't give a shit what the jury thinks about it. I don't care. I can annihilate Stroh, with or without Rusty's testimony. Yours is a little more iffy. I still need you."_

 _Sharon groaned. "Won't mine be discounted as well as Rusty's?" As much as she'd impressed the importance of witness testimony to Rusty, she didn't particularly like going to court._

 _"Nope. You're the officer who's handled this case since its instigation. Brenda handled Stroh the first time around, but that case was closed. It'd be double jeopardy to reopen the Chief's old files. This case began the night he broke into her house. Weren't you there?"_

 _"I was, but Provenza handled-"_

 _"He wasn't incident commander. It was an OIS, so it was you, wasn't it?"_

 _"Yes. It was. I cleared Brenda for the shooting, and the case went to. . ." she paused thinking. "I think it just went straight back to you and Major Crimes. It was an open case with Rusty's file attached to it when I got there. . . two weeks later?"_

 _Andrea nodded. "So I need you. You'll be fine, I promise. You've got decades of spotless records and only one hiccup in the last year. No big deal."_

 _Sharon shot her friend a dark look. The hiccup of mention was a writ of insubordination from Winnie Davis. Sharon had been beyond furious when she'd been called to Pope's office over it._

 _The man had rolled his eyes and told her it wasn't a big deal, that he knew Davis was full of hot air and had it out for Sharon. Nothing would come of the write-up, not even a demerit in her file, since he was planning on dismissing it, but there would still be a note down in FID that it had happened._

 _"For God's sake."_

 _"I know." Andrea leaned over to pick up her bag and dropped her pen into a pocket. "Don't worry about it. I've got assistants galore on this case, but I'll be the one handling you and Rusty both."_

 _"I don't_ need _handling."_

 _Andrea laughed. "Oh honey, your squad's rubbed off on you more than you know."_

* * *

Much earlier in the day, Sharon had finally reached the point where "Stroh" looked misspelled every time she read it, even though she rationally knew it wasn't. She just wanted it to be over. He had dogged her career for close to a decade, trailed Andy's for more than that.

She was glad Andrea was still the prosecutor. No one had a better, more thorough understanding of Philip Stroh, not Sharon herself, or even Brenda Leigh. She suspected that if Andrea hadn't been the only line of continuity over the entire case, the blonde would've had to recuse herself.

She pulled her thoughts from the shadows and back into the present. Andy had managed to take over most of the counter space, so she was content to sit down and wait. She sighed as she stretched her calves with the chair's lowest rung.

"You good?" Andy didn't look up.

She sighed again, relieved as she rotated her ankles in small circles and felt the joints pop. "My feet and knees are a little sore. I think I may have over done it a little today. I felt good while we were out running this morning, but it's catching up now, after eight hours in heels. But I'm not giving them up," she added. "The running _or_ the heels."

He did look up this time, assessing her expression. "We could take tomorrow off, sleep in a little instead of running."

She chuckled. "Is that your way of telling me you're already tired of getting beaten?"

His eyebrows rose as he passed her a cutting board and the Tupperware of vegetables. "I wasn't aware we were racing."

She leaned across the breakfast bar to grab a knife and point it at him before sliding back into her seat. "Alright, take the easy way out."

"Yes, ma'am." He slid the chicken into the oven and walked over to the counter to join her.

"I'm good for tomorrow." She answered his unspoken question. "I think it's just the regular _I'm-getting-old-and-out-of-shape_ aches, nothing else."

"If you rub my feet tonight, I'll do yours."

She laughed outright. "You've got yourself a deal." Sharon turned her attention back to the vegetables, throwing handfuls of carrots and tomatoes into a wooden bowl. "Can you pass me the lettuce?"

Andy pulled the crisper drawer open with a bang and tossed her a head of romaine.

"This-"

"I checked. Sprouts had a big sign that said it's not from Yuma."

Sharon smiled. "You read my mind."

"Great minds think alike." He turned back to the rice on the stovetop.

"You do know the second part of that is 'though fools seldom differ,' don't you?"

He looked back over his shoulder. "Babe, Provenza's been telling me that for years. He says he's the great mind and I'm the seldom differing fool."

"The work wife is one step ahead, once again," she sighed lightly. "I honestly think he purposefully tries to get us to misjudge him. He has this whole tough-guy-1980s-cop persona disguising the teddy bear inside." She set the lettuce down and circled the kitchen bar to stand beside Andy. "He's got the biggest heart of any of us." She fell quiet, thinking about her words.

"Hey." Andy pulled on her wrist. "Don't worry about that now."

Sharon shook herself and changed the subject. "So why did Nicole want to schedule dinner?"

"She said she hadn't seen us in a while and she wanted to say hi."

"Hmm." Sharon ripped the lettuce, dropping pieces into the bowl. "She said that?"

"Yeah, I thought it was odd, too." Nic was a good kid, but she took after her father in more than just looks. She didn't beat around the bush, and she wasn't particularly sentimental, just like him. It was unusual for her to make such a vague comment.

Sharon shrugged. "Maybe she did just miss us. We've all been busy." They had caught several cases since she'd been back to work, a few of them back-to-back. She'd passed a few more off to Robbery-Homicide. Now that Julio was leading the division, she rested easier knowing her cast-off cases were in good hands. She'd been trying hard not to over-work herself. She was home by ten and never in before eight. If something demanded her attention outside those hours, she dealt with it over the phone. Her lieutenants quietly picked up any slack she dropped.

"We'll have to try and coordinate a weekend off to have everyone over to the new house. Try out the porch out back," Andy finally said.

"We can use one of Robbery-Homicide's on-call weekends. We'll definitely have it off and Julio will too, as long as they don't catch something."

"Mark could play with Noah and Tommy if we invite Nic, too."

"Of course." She carried the salad bowl out to the dining table, and Andy began pulling out dishware for the evening.

"Gold china or roses?" He called. "Nevermind. I forgot we already packed it. Stoneware it is." He pulled their last set of plates out of the cabinets.

They laid the table in silence. Sharon turned to start moving the food onto serving dishes but Andy turned her away. "Go ahead and get ready. I know exactly how much time you need to preen, and we're getting close to wire." He grinned at her as he teased.

His wife snorted. "And how much time do I need?"

"Mm." He checked his watch. "About fifteen minutes to touch up your make-up, straighten out your hair, and change clothes." He caught her confused expression. "You should change, Sharon. You smell like the morgue."

She raised an arm to sniff her sleeve. "You didn't tell me that!"

"We all smelled like it, so I kind of stopped noticing."

"Men," she muttered. "You know that means you have to change, too."

He chuckled as she padded down the hall to their bedroom. It didn't take much to finish getting dinner together, and then he went to join his wife. She was finishing up, buttoning a new blouse as she looked through their closet.

Andy pulled his belt out of its loops, unclipped his suspenders, and kicked his pants off.

"What are you looking for?"

"Mm, a scarf to go with this." She plucked her blouse absentmindedly. It was white with black and blue blotches. It reminded Andy of Holstein cows, not that he'd tell her that.

"It looks good. Don't you usually wear it by itself?"

"Mm." She turned, pulling a violet scarf with her, and he suddenly understood the problem. "What about this?"

He walked toward her and gently pulled the scarf away, letting it settle on the wooden dresser.

"Andy," she grumbled. She reached for it again, but he side-stepped and she ended up giving him a sloppy hug instead.

"Sharon." He reached behind himself for the scarf, wrapping it around his hand before bringing it within Sharon's reach. "We're not leaving the house." Despite his ongoing efforts, she was still quite self-conscious about her scar, although- as he'd predicted- it wasn't very noticeable.

"I know. I just. . ." she trailed off.

"Babe, you've healed up real well. It's barely noticeable." He guessed her next thought. "And when you clip the controller onto your waistband inside out it's almost invisible. Not that Nic and Dean care."

She smiled. "Thank you."

"Just telling it like it is. You're welcome, though. Isn't _complimenting the wife_ part of marriage vows?"

She snorted and pushed him lightly. "Now you're just sucking up."

"Guilty as charged."

She sighed heavily, faking aggravation. "I'll give it a try." She pulled the scarf off the dresser and hung it back over one of the hooks, then bumped his shoulder playfully on her way out of the closet.

Nicole and her husband arrived less than ten minutes later, bearing a Pyrex dish and good spirits. Nicole hugged her father, kissed Sharon's cheek, and proceeded to the kitchen to deposit the pan Dean had carried along.

Dean and Andy watched their wives go, chatting happily.

"She's been itching to talk to Sharon since we set this thing up," Dean told him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Dean shoved his hands into his back pockets. "I think she really looks up to her. I mean-" he glanced over to find his father-in-law watching him intently. "She looks up to Sandy, too, but I think it's different to have a- uh- role model who isn't her mom."

Andy chuckled. "It's a good thing you went into radiology and not public speaking." He knew he wouldn't offend Dean. The younger man often made light jokes of his poor oratory, telling people that pictures spoke thousands of words, and therefore his radiographs said everything Dean needed.

"Hey, pot calling the kettle black."

Andy laughed. "Yeah, yeah, okay. There's a reason Sharon's the boss and not me. Come on."

They had swapped out dinner plates for coffee and Dean's fruit crisp, when Nicole changed the subject.

"So, Dean and I have something to tell you." Nicole watched her father and step-mother exchange glances and straighten in their chairs. "It's not bad news!" She realized belatedly that they were probably bracing for the worst. Sharon cocked her head almost imperceptibly, and it hit Nicole again that the older woman was much sharper than she usually let on. Her father, on the other hand, looked unenlightened.

"Are you moving?" Andy asked. He liked having his daughter so close, but he wasn't going to hold her back, either, if she and Dean had a better opportunity elsewhere.

"No-o."

Dean slipped his hand over his wife's knee and squeezed gently.

"I'm actually hoping that you'll be up for some babysitting come-" she looked at Dean.

"November," he said. "December, maybe. Pretty sure we'll be in need of a few hours to ourselves by then."

Sharon clapped her hands to her lips in excitement, and Andy looked between her and his daughter, turning the words over in his head.

"Oh, you are remarkably slow for a tenured detective," Sharon laughed.

Andy stared at her, then looked to Nicole. "Wait, you're-"

"Yes!" Nicole laughed, too. "Good grief, Dad. I'm pregnant."

He shrugged, grinning widely and temporarily beyond words. Sharon was already halfway around the table to hug Nicole.

"Oh, congratulations, honey!"

Dean leaned back in his chair. He was just as excited as the others, but he'd been through the announcement process twice before and was content to watch his wife and in-laws. "Is this your first?" He asked Sharon. He knew Nic's brother didn't have any kids, and therefore Andy's answer, but he wasn't sure about Sharon. Nicole had told him, he was sure, but he couldn't remember.

His words almost slipped past Sharon. _Your first._ She wasn't his mother, or Nicole's, or even a tenured step-mother. She'd married Andy little more than six months before. This family of hers was a patchwork of unusual characters, but she loved them, and she'd found they loved her, too. She knew that, but it still surprised her sometimes.

She tightened her grip on her newest daughter. "Yes."

* * *

Andy jolted awake when the phone rang, fumbling for it in the darkness. When he finally found his iPhone, it was dark and silent. He rolled over and looked at his wife, sitting up in bed and on her own phone.

Provenza had never adjusted to calling anyone before his partner, not even his commanding officer, and everyone else knew Andy would tell Sharon anyways. There were only two reasons for her phone to ring now, and so he knew that either one of the kids was hurt or she had a heart.

 _Please, God._ He wasn't a great believer, let alone a good Catholic, but Sharon was, and surely that counted for something on the scoreboard of the universe. _Please, please._

Her face was pale, but he couldn't tell if it was due to the moonlight or not. They were still at the condo, since the bedroom furniture hadn't been moved yet. They had been planning for that to happen over the weekend, so that they had some time to get used to the new house before going back to work on Monday morning.

"Yes. Okay. Okay. Fifth floor. Thank you." She hung up and turned to face him. Her expression was pinched and she looked worried. "This is it."

"Yeah?" He was already halfway out of bed. "They're sure?" They had been warned about so-called _dry runs_ , where a donor was found, and Sharon would be called in to the hospital, but something wouldn't work out at the last minute.

She swung her feet to the floor and began numbly shuffling for her slippers before realizing she didn't need them. "They've typed the donor already and said it looks good preliminarily. Dr. Torres is on his way in. We'll see."

"Looks like we _are_ getting out of that morning run," he told her. He grabbed a shirt and jeans for himself and began changing as Sharon pulled one of the drawers open. Over the last few months, she had decided she was tired of wearing leggings in the hospital. They didn't breath well and she felt hot and sticky, which didn't help her patience. She'd decided to switch to pajama pants. Andy had picked a pair out the day she informed him of that; they were black, patterned with Stormtroopers and Darth Vader. He'd had to get them from the boys' section, and the largest size in a boy's tall worked for his wife. Actually, _she_ worked the pajamas, he thought before forcing himself back to the matter at hand.

By the time he had his shirt tucked into his jeans, she was out the door and into Rusty's room.

"Honey," she whispered.

There was a strangled moan from under the cover, much like the last time they'd woken him in the night.

"Rusty." It was a little sharper this time.

"Mmwhaaa. . .?" He sounded both annoyed and asleep.

"You need to get up."

Andy raised his eyebrows in surprise from the doorway. The words sounded sharp, a giveaway to her rising stress.

Suddenly, Rusty sat bolt upright, flipping the covers back and nearly bouncing Sharon off his bed. He caught her arm and steadied her. "What?" He was awake now, his brain catching up to his surroundings. "What's wrong?"

Sharon smiled tightly- nervously- at him, and Andy took it as his cue to step in.

"They've got a heart," he said quietly.

"Oh my God." Rusty scrambled off the other side of the bed, finger combing his hair. "Am I driving? Are we leaving, like, now?"

"Yes. We need to leave now."

"Okay." Shedding all his awkward modesty, Rusty grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor as he kicked his pajamas off.

Sharon stood, rolling her eyes at the mess, and had barely reached Andy when Rusty caught up.

"'Kay, I'm ready." He had his satchel over one shoulder.

"Shoes?" Andy asked, glancing down at the boy's bare feet.

"Dude," Rusty slipped into the hall. "You should know the house rules by now. They're on the doormat."

"Are we sure the kid's going to law school?" Andy muttered to his wife. "He's a damn comedian."

She smiled tightly again, but didn't say anything.

He reached over and squeezed her shoulder tightly. "It's okay."

Not even ten minutes later, Rusty was gunning his old sedan out of the garage. Andy braced himself in the backseat.

"Take it easy on the gas pedal, Rusty."

"Sorry."

Andy side-eyed his wife and rolled his eyes. "Good thing your heart only needs to work for another couple hours. We might be in for the ride of our lives."

Her grip tightened on his arm, but she still didn't laugh, so he covered her hand with his and ran his thumb over her knuckles.

It was strange how things always moved in the night. He supposed there was a logical reason- driving too fast in the dark, people getting drunk and mouthing off, higher crime rates, no open urgent care centers- but it didn't feel that way. It felt disproportionate and dream-like. Time had no meaning.

They arrived at the hospital in one piece, and Rusty dropped them at the emergency room door since the main doors closed overnight, then left to go and park. They were quickly taken back, not to the emergency department, but upstairs, to a pre-op ward.

A tech took them to a room, where more staff and a registrar awaited. They chattered quietly, making easy talk with each other and trying- unsuccessfully- to engage Sharon. Andy began filling out her paperwork. He knew most of her information by heart, but occasionally checked with her. She was busy changing into a gown, having an IV inserted and plastic bracelets snapped on.

Andy glanced up when Sharon called for him. She jerked her chin up and tossed him her clothes in a neat pile. He watched as one of the nurses reached over and stuck a last electrode on Sharon's shoulder then plugged some wires together before numbers and waves jumped up on a screen.

He set her clothes down in the empty chair next to him, then stood to hand her a pen and the papers to sign. She ran through them quickly, then passed the stack back so the staff could take her blood pressure. She sighed heavily and turned to look at Andy, lips pursed around a thermometer.

"Lookin' good, Sharon. We'll be back in soon." The nurse passed her a short stack of something wrapped in purple plastic. "These are chlorhexadine wipes. Use them like a towel bath, okay? All over. It'll help reduce the risk of post-op infection."

Sharon nodded, and they were left alone.

Andy stood and and walked. "Want some help?"

"Sure."

He took the packages, and ripped the first one open. "It's warm," he said in surprise. He held up his arm for her to lean into and undid the snaps at the shoulder of her gown. "Why the hell did they do this thing up when they knew we'd just be taking it off?"

"Mm, that sounds like something you could say about lingerie, too."

He snorted. "You look pretty hot in this gown, but I think I prefer the lingerie."

"Down, boy," she replied. "We're going to be waiting on that one for a while."

"That's alright. I can deal with it." He paused and grinned at her. " This'll make it even better when you get the green light."

"Oh my god, drag your mind out of the gutter." She took another wipe and worked on her arms. When they were done, her skin felt cool and slightly sticky.

"Are you ready for this?" He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I guess I have to be."

"You don't have to," he said quietly.

She looked up sharply. "What are you saying?"

"If you really don't want to, we don't have to." Backing out at the last minute would be horrible for everyone involved, but- technically- she could do it.

"Andy."

"Babe, if you don't want to, I'll be okay with it. I might not like it, but it's your choice. You know that." He spoke slowly and quietly. He didn't want her to back out, and he was almost completely positive she was committed, but he knew there was a lot of pressure for her to continue through the transplant, and he wanted to lift the weight, at least for a moment.

She was silent for a long moment, and he was suddenly worried that she might cancel the transplant. It was irrational, but she was quiet longer than he'd expected.

"I want to do it. There's no question about that."

"Yeah?" The relief he felt was tremendous.

"Yes. I want to be with you and the kids for as long as I can be, or at least take my best shot at it."

"You're going to make it through this just fine, Shaz."

"We can't know that."

"I do."

She smiled sadly. "Andy."

"Sharon."

She looked down and fiddled with her bracelets. A white one with her name, a red allergy tag, and a yellow fall risk. "When am I going to have a chance to fall?" It sounded like some kind of deep philosophy, and it took Andy a moment to realize she meant her question at face value. She'd had a yellow bracelet for a few days after the LVAD surgery, when she was first starting to walk, but she'd been on heavy medication, and apparently had forgotten it.

"After. They're going to screw with all your meds again since we just got them figured out, and that makes you pretty lightheaded sometimes. It's just a precaution, because I'm sure they'll want you up and walking as soon as you can."

"Mm." She wrinkled her nose in distaste, remembering her previous physical therapy. "After."

"After," he repeated. "We'll be there in a few hours."

There was a knock, and a pair of techs stepped in.

"Sharon, we're here to take you for a chest x-ray before we go any further, okay?"

She nodded tightly and squeezed Andy's hand before dropping it. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

She was back by the time Rusty arrived. He had texted Andy when he found a spot to park the car in the hospital's garage, halfway across the medical campus. He was red-faced and out of breath when he got to the room. Andy stepped out into the hall to wave him in.

"Rusty." Sharon lifted her arms towards him.

"Mom." He rushed forward and wrapped his arms around her. He could feel her electrodes and wires poking his chest. After a long minute, he released her and took a half step back. "Ready?"

She looked small and strange, not because of the hospital gown that swathed her frame but the blue bouffant cap that covered her hair. He could only remember a few times that he'd seen her with her hair up- either in a ponytail for the gym or something more elegant for galas- but the auburn strands had still framed her face. Her glasses were gone, too, he realized slowly, unable to process it all at once.

She smiled at him. "Yes and no. Physically yes, emotionally no." Her lip trembled slightly, the only tell of her nervousness.

"You're going to do great."

"Dr. Torres is very good, and this hospital does a heart transplant every week." she replied. "I'm in the best hands. This is routine here."

He hugged her again. "I'm going to go back out and text Lieutenant Provenza, okay? Tell him where to park." He wanted to give her some time with Andy, alone. It wasn't that he wanted to leave, but he also knew she'd hold her false cheer up like a shield if he stayed. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"I'll see you in a couple hours, okay?"

Her mask wavered again, but she nodded. "You will." Her pitch had dropped, and he knew she was holding her fear back.

"Okay. Bye, Mom. I love you." He caught her gaze and smiled, hopefully not too falsely, and slipped back out. "I'll be in the waiting room," he told Andy as he passed. He didn't want to leave, but he couldn't stay either.

Sharon pulled her knees up to her chest, hands shaking, after Rusty left. For some indescribable reason, the prospect of surgery terrified her. Perhaps not even so much the surgery, but the anesthesia, the complete loss of control and sensation. Whatever happened, there was nothing she could do. It was like handing the keys of her car over to someone, and then sitting in the back seat, eyes closed, while they drove it around. Nothing she could do and no way to fight.

"Sharon, hey." Andy came into her blurry view and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached over and closed his hands over hers. "Hey, it's okay." One hand rose and he swept away the tears that were beginning to spill over. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, throat too tight to speak, and leaned into him.

"It's gonna be okay. This is a good thing."

She rested her head against his shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

She closed her eyes, but it did little against the tears. "I'm scared."

"Honey." It wasn't condescending, just a concerned half-question.

"What if something goes wrong?"

"It's going to be just fine." He was reassuring himself as much as her.

"Whatever happens, make sure the kids know how much I love them."

"Okay. They know, but I'll tell 'em."

"And take care of Rusty. Andrea's a wonderful mentor, but he needs you, too."

"Sharon-"

"And I love you, so, so much." She opened her eyes and looked up at him, nearly breaking his heart in the process. Crying had reddened her eyes, making the green pop more than usual. He couldn't sweep her hair back like he usually did, so he settled for resting his hands on her hips. "You know that, right?"

"I do."

"You've been so good to me," she said shakily. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I thank God every day that we found each other. The last few years-" she choked up and restarted. "The last few years have been perhaps the best in my life. Having you and my children and our squad felt like a new family and I. . . I lo. . love you so-o much." She started crying in earnest at the end, struggling to get the words out between deep, gasping breaths.

He held her tightly. "Sharon, it's going to be okay."

"What if it's not?" She asked thickly.

"It will be."

"But-"

"It will be." He tilted her chin up and kissed her gently. She wasn't usually a doubting Thomas, but he could tell she was scared. "You got Last Rites from Father Stan on Sunday, and you're going to be fine." He reached into his pocket and pullet out her chaplet of St. Michael, letting the beads slide into her hand. "Do you want me to pray with you?" He wasn't as devout as she, but it wasn't as though he'd forgotten how to say an _Our Father_.

She shook her head and inched closer to him. "I just want to stay like this." She fingered the rosary nonetheless, the motion soothing.

They sat in silence, and he held her close, stroking her back and feeling her deep, shuddering breaths. He wasn't sure how long it was until someone knocked again and several people in scrubs and caps walked in. It felt like a blur, and he wasn't entirely sure what happened. Torres was in the operating room already, preparing, and the people were nurses and technicians and the anesthetist.

The anesthetist was a big man who looked as though he belonged in some kind of Nordic fjord, but he explained what he was going to do in a gentle manner that belied his size. "Are you ready?"

Sharon looked to Andy again. "You've got this, babe," he said.

"I love you," she told him again as she nodded to the doctor. She watched as he injected something through her IV, and she could feel it tracing up her arm like cold water. It surprised her how well the he had explained what she'd feel.

"Count backwards from ten, okay?"

They were moving, and she almost missed as Andy saluted her, heels clicking together and fingers to his forehead. Then they were out of the room and rolling down the hall. There was easy chatter around her, and some of it was probably directed to her, but she wasn't listening, focusing on counting.

She reached six as they hit the double doors that separated the operating suites from the rest of the ward, and she could feel her eyes starting to water with tears again. She fought it, and found herself instead shivering with some combination of fear and emotion. They went through another set of doors, and she felt the hair on her arms raise as the temperature dropped. Abstractly, she realized her shaking would be likely mistaken for cold, and she felt relieved. There were bright lights overhead, icy white. The crew came to a stop, and someone leaned over the bed, face masked, capped, and androgynous.

"Hey Sharon, you still awake?"

She nodded.

"Okay, do you think you can move onto the other table over there?"

"Yes." Under watchful eyes, she edged over to the operating table and slowly lay back. Like the room, the drapes on the table were cold. "May I have a blanket?"

"Sure." The masked person vanished, and time seemed to be frozen in a white haze.

Another person rounded into her field of vision, completely cloaked in blue. "Hey, Sharon!" She couldn't make his face out, but knew it was Torres from his voice. "Fighting the anesthesia?"

"Not trying to." Even to her own ears, she sounded grumpy.

The other person returned with a warmed blanket and spread it over Sharon's legs.

"Okay. Just relax, okay? We're going to start running some stuff through the IV, so that may be cold."

As he spoke, she felt the icy feeling travel up her arm again.

"There, deep breath."

Sharon closed her eyes briefly, then forced them open again.

"Don't fight it. A little bit of air, okay? Coming over your face."

The bright white light flickered as someone passed an oxygen mask over her face to Torres, and he held it close to her. "Deep breath."

He watched as her eyelids drooped again. She fought it for another few seconds, and then relaxed completely as she finally succumbed.

"Alright." Torres stepped back again, giving his team one last look-over. "Let's go."

* * *

"So we just wait?" Rusty asked. It was different from the last time she'd had surgery. This was purposeful, and he was expecting it. The waiting room lacked the blind panic of seven months before, but he still felt unnerved.

"Yeah, kid. We wait." Andy kept in stride as they paced the room together.

"How long?"

Andy sighed. "It'll take about six hours just to do the heart, more since they have to take out the LVAD, too. At least, that's what the doc is expecting."

"Expecting," Rusty sighed. "And we can't see her right after, either?"

"Nope." Andy thought for a moment, counting the hours in his mind. "Chances are we won't see her until tomorrow morning. The ICU has limited hours, and they'll probably be past by the time she's out of recovery."

"Oh my Go-oddd." Rusty dragged the last word out.

"You knew this was coming." Andy almost had to laugh.

"Yeah, but it's different when you actually have to wait."

"Want my advice?"

"What?" Rusty turned to look at him.

"Go in to work."

"What? Why?"

"What are you going to do here other than worry?"

Rusty sighed. "Nothing, really."

"Exactly." Andy leaned back in his chair. "Why don't you head home and get ready? I'll call you if I hear anything."

"But-"

"Rusty. Cedars is probably the best heart transplant center in the country. Even if something happens-" _Please, God, no._ "-we aren't going to see her until the surgery is over."

Rusty was quiet as he thought it over. "I guess. I don't know if I'll get anything done, though."

"That's okay. It'll still help. You'll help Andrea keep her mind off of it, too." He and Sharon had sent texts to their closest friends while Rusty drove them over, after she'd called Emily and Ricky.

"Yeah. I guess." Rusty looked at his satchel, sitting on a chair in the corner. "But you'll call when you hear anything?"

"I will."

"Like, right then?"

If it was anyone else, the repeated need for reaffirmation would have been annoying, but Andy could understand it coming from the kid. Sharon had been the only stability in his life, and now she was his greatest uncertainty. "Right then."

"Okay."

"Okay." Andy wasn't entirely sure what the moment warranted, but he pulled Rusty in for a brief hug, and then pushed him towards his bag. "See you soon."

* * *

 ** _A/N- My one prof liked to (frequently) tell us that x-rays were the mechanism, and the film was a radiograph. We lost points for using the incorrect term haha. Thanks for sticking with me! We're winding down the story now, rounding third and heading home._**


	19. Warrior

_**A/N- The second paragraph here was the original AN. This one is newer. I realize it's been over two months since I updated. This story hasn't been far from my thoughts, but I've been busy. I graduated, got a job, went to a funeral and a wedding both, and have traveled close to 10,000 miles in those couple months for various reasons. It's been inspiring in many ways, and so every time I thought this chapter was ready, I found some new facet I wanted it to reflect. My email inbox is. . . well, google "burning dumpster," so please forgive me for not answering reviews and PMs. Thank you for your patience, reviews, and encouragement. I'm seeing (most of) it (I think),and it means a lot that you're still here! (:**_

 _ **I've actually ended up doing a lot of research into cardiac pathology both for school and out of curiosity, and I can tell you this is far from an accurate description. Even in this chapter, there are bits I've changed/omitted just for clarity and practicality. I may go back through this whole story and edit it to be somewhat more medically correct, but for now this is what I've got for you. I'm sorry we're winding down too, but for those of you worrying I'm going to kill Sharon. . . I'm trying to be suspenseful, but I also promised one thing when I started. Don't fret (:**_

* * *

 _Oh my darling, I've been missing / You for quite some time._

 _Oh my darling I am getting closer, hold on tight_

 _And I know it hasn't been so easy / I'm fighting for my life_

 _-Chloe x Halle_

* * *

Andy didn't take his own advice. He saw Rusty off, back to the condo to get ready for work, then called Provenza despite the early hour. He'd texted earlier, but knew the lone _ping_ wouldn't wake his partner. The old man answered, grumbling into the phone. Andy could hear Patrice in the background, chuckling and asking who was on the phone.

"Provenza."

"Yeah, it's me."

"What is it, Flynn? I thought we were off this weekend."

Andy struggled for the words. "It's not that."

"Then what?" Provenza snapped. There was a moment of silence, and Andy could almost see the lightbulb flare above his friend's head. "Is Sharon okay?" There was a sudden rustle from the phone as one of the Provenzas moved. "I'm putting you on speaker so Patrice can hear."

"Andy?" Patrice sounded wide-awake and concerned. "What's going on?"

"We uh, the transplant team called and said they had a heart."

"Oh, thank God," Patrice said.

"About time," Provenza growled. "Are you at home? Do you need-"

"No, I'm at Cedar's. Sharon's in surgery."

"Already?"

"We got here about a while ago, I don't know- What time is it?" He wasn't actually sure how long he'd been at the hospital. He knew they'd left the condo around three.

"Close to six." Provenza sighed. "I guess this is you calling you and the Commander out sick for the day?"

Andy laughed despite the situation. "Yeah, and the rest of the week, probably. Rusty and I both sent you a text earlier, but I guess you haven't read them?"

"No, I just woke up. How's Rusty?"

"I sent him to work. Andrea knows; Sharon called her earlier this morning. I thought they could help keep each other's minds off of it. They said it's going to be a few hours yet before they're done, even if it's textbook."

Patrice hummed. "It'll take longer too, because she's already had heart surgery. They have to be careful cutting through her scar tissue, because it can adhere her heart to her breastbone." After the silence that followed, she forged ahead, realizing her pre-caffeine honesty might have been a little blunt. _And I thought Louie was bad_. "That's normal. That's perfectly normal for that to happen, Andy. Dr. Torres will be expecting it. It just means they go a little slower initially."

Andy nodded, forgetting they couldn't see him.

"Did he say if he'd send anyone out to update you?"

"Yeah, maybe halfway through or so."

"Good, good," Patrice murmured calmingly. "Tell you what. Louie's got to go to work today-" she said it forcefully, so Andy suspected she was speaking to her husband. "Yes, to work- but I am free to come and sit with you."

"You'll keep us updated?" Provenza asked her.

"Of course, dear. I'll call you if we hear anything, and you can tell your team."

"Alright. I guess."

This time Patrice was clearly speaking to Andy. "He's a grump when he hasn't had his coffee, isn't he?"

"Are you implying he's not always this much of a pain in the-" Andy cleared his throat. "This much of a _grump_."

"Oh, sometimes he's downright _nice_." There was a small noise, and Andy assumed Patrice kissed Provenza's cheek. "Go get ready." There was another series of rustles, and then Patrice was back, having taken the phone off speaker. "I'll be there in an hour or so. Call me if you need anything. Do you want me to bring anything from home? Louie and I still have your spare key."

Provenza had had a spare key to Andy's place for as long as either of them could remember, but Sharon had given her spare to Patrice when Andy temporarily moved into the condo and then never reclaimed it.

Andy paused to think. They'd left the condo in a rush, without their usual overnight bag. He remembered thinking Sharon wouldn't need it, and he hadn't been awake enough to realize _he_ _'_ _d_ need it. "That'd be great, actually." He kept spare doses of his medications in an Altoids tin that lived in his jacket pocket, but beyond that and his wallet, he didn't have anything. Not even car keys, he realized. Rusty had the car. "Can I text you when I figure out what we need?"

"Sure. I'll head to your place first, and then I'll meet you about half an hour after that?"

"Thanks."

"Any time."

* * *

Andrea stared at the file in her lap and kicked her feet up on her desk. "Jesus Christ," she muttered. She reached over and scrawled a note to call the DA in Massachusetts about Philip Stroh's extradition.

She had an entire legal pad devoted to his latest trial, which was entirely too much, in her opinion. She flipped ahead a few pages and looked at the questions she was writing up for Major Crimes. There was a whole laundry list, but she had answers for most of it. All she was missing, really, was the remainder of Sharon's account. They'd talked enough that Andrea was fairly sure she knew everything, but she didn't like surprises in court.

She reached for her coffee cup and slurped from it. In the privacy of her own office, she didn't have to be proper.

Sharon had called a few hours before, and Andrea had only been half awake until she heard the words 'heart donor.' At that point, she recognized the nervous tone in her friend's voice. She'd offered to meet Andy at the surgical waiting room, but he'd gently refused. There was no need for her to come in so early, especially if no one would be allowed to see Sharon likely until the next day. Andrea knew better than to argue. She decided she'd go over later in the day, likely when Sharon's detectives would and meet Andy then.

She slapped the legal pad down on the desk and reached for the laptop sitting next to the desktop.

"NPR . . email. . ." The radio station was her browser's homepage, so she started streaming it and then opened her email, skipping the inbox and opening a new email. "RE. . . semicolon ex. . . tradition of. . . Phillip Stroh. Would it be inappropriate to refer to him as _asswipe_ instead of _defendant?"_ She muttered to herself.

She didn't have a corner office, but she was high enough up in the courthouse to see the sun rise. By the time her office door was eased open, she'd sent half a dozen emails to DAs across the nation, and her office was bathed in orange-y coral light, thanks to the heavy smoke from the fires upstate.

She glanced up. "You're in early."

Rusty stumbled back in surprise. " _You're_ in early."

Andrea drew her feet back off her desk, carefully avoiding stacks of paperwork. She groaned tiredly and pushed a cardboard drink holder into view. "I picked up coffee, figured we could both use it."

Rusty dropped his bag and jacket on the small desk in the corner that was designated for Andrea's intern of the year. "Coffee?" He perked up.

"Mm." Andrea spun the cups in the container, reading the notes jotted on the sides. "I took the liberty of guessing. . . My nephew is about your age."

Rusty accepted the cup gratefully, also reading the label on the cup . "Vanilla mocha with an extra shot?"

Andrea raised her brows. "Ye-es?"

"Nothing, uh, thanks." It's absolutely something he would order. Not usually when he was at work trying to look mature, but with Ricky or Sharon? Absolutely.

"What's on the books for today?"

"You've got two pre-trial appointments this morning and one actual trial in the afternoon."

"What's the a-"

"Actual trial is the State versus D. James, the-"

"Homicide, yeah, okay." Andrea took a long drink. "We did the review for that yesterday." She slowly rifled through her files. "And we've got five witnesses to call, none of them have backed out, and I prepped all of them."

"Yep."

"Okay." Andrea groaned as she stood. "I'm getting too old for this, Rusty."

He laughed, feeling some of the weight lift from his shoulders.

"You gotta hurry up through law school so you can get in here and replace me."

"What? You want me to do your yard work and your work work now?"

She raised an eyebrow as she passed. "You're the one who signed on as my intern; what did you think would happen? Come on. Let's go make sure the conference room is unlocked for that first appointment."

* * *

It felt almost funny to be sitting in the hospital waiting for Sharon. If someone could've predicted the future five or ten years ago, Andy would have told them they were nuts and then laughed it off with Provenza.

He'd graduated Academy a few classes before her, but they'd been warm acquaintances, verging on friends while they were both working street patrols. A few years on, she had Emily, and- after another couple years- put in her transfer to FID when she found out she was pregnant again. They'd had a shouting match in the back alley of some cop bar. He'd been trying to convince her to follow him into Robbery-Homicide or apply for the opening in Vice. Yeah, they didn't really promote women too often, but she was good, she was ballsy, she had a shot, and she was blowing it on the rat squad.

They hadn't spoken for nearly a year, both of them too proud to admit fault.

The next time he saw her, it was August and he'd shot someone. He still remembered that conversation.

She was there to interview him in an ill-fitting, black wool suit.

 _"Christ, Sharon. It_ _'_ _s nearly 100 out here._ _" The words were out of his mouth before his brain caught up. He hadn_ _'_ _t talked to her, but the grapevine had told him plenty about the state of her marriage. Or lack thereof. Rumor had it that she_ _'_ _d caught Jack with another women and kicked him out. Or that Jack had ditched her for a Vegas showgirl. Rumor also had it that whichever it was, Sharon was strapped for cash._

 _She pursed her lips._ _"_ _The sooner we start, the sooner it_ _'_ _s over._ _" Her button-up was soaked through with sweat, and she prayed Flynn didn_ _'_ _t notice. It_ was _hot, but her uniform blues weren_ _'_ _t much cooler and Ricky had spit up on the shoulder that morning. The secondhand suit was her only backup._

 _He sighed tiredly._ _"_ _Look, if we gotta do this, can we at least go to your office-_ _"_

 _"_ _Protocol says the scene._ _" It was easier to use the rules as a shield than try to reconcile._

 _"_ _Or,_ _"_ _he floundered._ _"_ _Look, look see that diner across the street? How about that? It_ _'_ _s like, thirty feet from your tape._ _"_

 _She made a small noise._ _"Fine."_

 _It was a start._

When they'd finished, he'd come to the begrudging realization that she was still a good- a great- cop.

 _"_ _Look, Sharon, uh, some of us go to Joe_ _'_ _s on Fridays for dogs and drinks if you want to join._ _"_

 _She smiled at him sadly._ _"_ _I don_ _'_ _t know that the rest of your division would want me there._ _"_

 _"_ _That doesn_ _'_ _t matter._ _"_

 _"_ _I can_ _'_ _t a- uh, I don_ _'_ _t have a sitter for Emily and the baby, either, so. . . It_ _'_ _s okay. But thank you, Andy."_

A few years after that, the Riots happened. It was the second time he saw Sharon. He remembered _that_ because she was in uniform and riot gear, trying her best not to look terrified. Her captain was at a training seminar and she was the stand-in. Most of the brass was at training outside LA, so the lieutenants and higher ranking detectives were stepping up to the empty places.

 _"_ _Sharon?_ _" He almost didn_ _'_ _t_ _recognize her with her hair cropped short._

 _She whipped around._ _"Andy. What-?"_

 _"_ _Skirmish line. You too?_ _"_

 _She nodded tightly._

 _"_ _Kids okay?_ _"_

 _Another nod._ _"_ _I sent them to my parents_ _' last week_ _._ _"_

 _"_ _Congrats on the promotion._ _" She was still below him, a third-grade detective to his first lieutenant_ _. Despite being the better cop, she didn't_ _climb the ladder as easily._

 _She rolled her eyes, trying to control her nerves. She wiggled her left hand at him. Her too-flashy wedding rings were on her finger, lumpy under leather gloves._ _"_ _Putting these back on helped, I think._ _"_

 _"_ _Yeah?_ _"_ _Andy tightened the straps on his helmet._

 _"Brass didn_ _'_ _t want to promote a single mother. I put my rings back on and. . . a month later the Captain was calling me in for a promotion."_

 _Andy looked away, embarrassed on her behalf._ _"_ _Shit, I_ _'_ _m sorry._ _"_

 _She shrugged and readjusted her Kevlar, fingering the velcro straps._ _"_ _It is what it is._ _"_

He had previously thought her hands were the only part of her that truly showed her age. She dyed her hair thoughtfully, applied make-up carefully, worked out regularly. Even back when she was FID, he'd noticed that. Noticed her. Julio had once dropped a key behind a filing cabinet, and Sharon was the only one who could slide a long-fingered hand into the narrow space. She occasionally wore her grandmother's ring, and now it was looser than it used to be. Sometimes, when they were sitting on the sofa together, Andy would play with it, spinning it around her finger. The dorsal veins of her hands stuck out now, too, even where they weren't crossing tendons. There was a scar on the side of her small wrist from a cat scratch she'd gotten as a child. A couple burn marks from her time as a waitress.

But it was her heart, not her hands, that was first to fail her. That great, big heart that proved over and over not to be carved from stone. Andy had said it- hell, they'd all said that the Wicked Witch had a heart of stone, ice-water instead of blood.

He'd always expected to be the first to go. He had a cardiac history and about as much time much time sober as not. Sharon, well. . . Andy knew her history. Like Rusty, he'd been doing his research, and he wondered if her early years with Jack and their mountain of debt had caused enough stress to start hurting her, even then. Or was it just a stroke of bad luck? They'd probably never know.

Patrice arrived close to an hour later, purse in one hand, Andy's bag in the other.

"How are you holding up?" She set the bag on the low table in front of him and sat down.

"Hey. I'm alright. I know what's going on this time." He leaned forward to unzip the bag and riffle through it, noting the contents. "Thanks."

"Of course. Have you heard anything?"

"Um, someone came out after you called and said that the donor heart was here and they still think it all looks good. I don't know. . ."

Patrice eased down into a chair as she talked. "The transplant team with the donor does a bunch of tests before they take the organ out of him or her, and then they coordinate with each recipient's team- with Sharon's team- for the timing of it. So the heart stays with the donor roughly until they start with Sharon, and then they start getting it out. They check it again, make sure things look good and bring it over. It may be from someone here at Cedars, or it could have come in via ground or air. Probably not a ground ambulance in LA," she added with a laugh. "And then- ideally- they'll get it to the OR when they've gotten access to Sharon's heart and. . . swap them out."

"What if they get it to the OR and. . .?"

"And it doesn't work out?" She asked quietly.

"Yeah, I mean-" Andy sighed. "What if something's wrong with it or someone drops it on the floor?"

Patrice pursed her lips and looked at him appraisingly. "Then they close up. And Sharon goes back on the list. Or if they get the heart in and it doesn't work, they keep her on bypass and try to give the new heart some time to get it together."

"Patrice, I don't know that she could handle-"

"Andy." She reached out and laid her hand over his arm. "You said they told you they got the heart before I got here. No one's dropped it on the floor. Don't worry about that."

He huffed. "I'm starting to get stuck in my own head."

"Yes, you are. What do you say to a cup of coffee and some breakfast downstairs? My treat."

"I-"

"Andy. If anyone needs us, the staff can page us. You need to get out of here for a little while."

He was silent for a long minute before nodding. "Yeah. Has Provenza ever told you how much you sound like Sharon?"

Patrice laughed and flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Yes. Every once in a while, usually after you all've had a long day he'll tell me that." She said it without any hint of resentment, maybe with some amusement. "Come on." She led the way down the hall, walking slowly.

Patrice bought them both coffee and bagels from the cafeteria and steered Andy to a table in the corner. Andy picked at his food, paying somewhat more attention to his coffee.

"Patrice?"

She looked at him over the rim of her cup, once again reminiscent of Sharon.

"Do you think this is the worst of it? I mean, do you think she's going to be better after this? You have all this nursing experience. . ."

She set her coffee down and was silent for a long moment. "Short answer? Yes, yes, I think she's going to be so much better."

"What's the long answer?"

"It might be like this for a while. Ups and downs for a few months." _Or more._

Andy sighed and sat back.

Patrice watched, knowing he'd speak again when he was ready.

"I just feel bad, you know, because this whole year, ever since last October, she's been sick. And it seems like as soon as she's back home and feeling better, something happens and we're back at the hospital. I mean, we've spent probably a quarter of the last year in here."

Patrice nodded.

"And it just- It's- It pisses me off that I can't help her." He let his fist drop to the table.

"You are helping her." She'd had variations of the same conversation many times over the years of her career.

He made a small noise of exasperation, but she cut him off before he could speak.

"I know it doesn't feel like it."

"You got that right."

"But you are. You're here. You've been here. You organized your whole move to Laurel Canyon."

"That wasn't the hard part," he said. "The closing and the inspection, though. . . I'm never buying another house again."

Patrice laughed. "But you got it done. She didn't have to do a thing, did she?"

"Nah. She packed some of her stuff that's special to her, but other than that," he trailed off. "We actually were supposed to finish moving today."

"Do you need someone to go out and oversee the movers?"

Andy took a long sip of coffee as he though it over. "No. . . I think it'll be fine. The boxes are labelled. I think I told them which rooms were which."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I, I don't know." Andy sighed tiredly and shook his head. "I'm sure Sharon told them if I didn't. Whatever."

Patrice made a mental note to tell Louie to have one of the team check that the boxes were in the right places. No one had formal plans, but she knew Julio and Mark were going over to leave food in the fridge, that Amy had strong-armed Coop and Nolan into helping to reassemble furniture. Tao, Buzz and Cami were planning to take on the less personal rooms- kitchen, living room, guest room- and put them together.

"We'll figure it out," she said simply. "How are you doing, though?"

"Huh?"

Patrice smiled at him. "It's at least as hard on the caregiver as the patient. How are you doing?"

"You asked earlier." Andy frowned slightly.

"Yes, and you gave me the Sharon special: _I_ _'_ _m fine._ I'd like a real answer. Do you have your meds? Have you been to a meeting recently? Did you sleep at _all_ last night?" The last question blunted her edge.

Andy finally relaxed. "Yes to all three. Well, mostly yes on the last one." He laughed slightly. "I'm too wired to try sleeping now, so don't bother asking."

"Good enough for me. How're the kids?"

"Rusty's, well. . . Rusty, but I sent him to work. Ricky's about at neurotic as Rusty, and he'll be driving down tonight after he gets off work. I told him not to take PTO, but he said he can do everything from his laptop and Skype. Emily is alright, I think. She'll come when she can. She has shows this week and can't take off. It seems early in the season for that, but I guess it's some kind of special event and she's used as many get-out-of-New-York-free cards as she's got." He would never have guessed that he'd know a ballet company's schedule by heart, but life was never predictable. "Charlie's out there, too, so they can talk if they want to. Did Provenza tell you he's with the NYPD?"

"I think he mentioned it. What does he do?"

"He's part of a special op team, like our SOB."

Patrice could hear the note of pride. "That's wonderful."

"Yeah, yeah. Nic," he paused for a moment. "Nic said she'd love to bring the boys by once Sharon's home. She thinks they might be a little much in a hospital. Although. . ." he trailed off, thinking. "Neither of us called Sharon's ex, and I've been wondering if I should."

"Why?"

Andy watched a group of people in ciel and misty scrubs walk past, stretching their backs and running tired hands over scrub caps. "I don't know. He hasn't kept in touch lately, but I know her kids are keeping him in the loop. I just feel like I should. . . I don't know, reach out to him, I guess. She's still important to him, and it seems cold to let the kids tell him. And I don't want them to have to deal with him any more than they really want to."

"Give it a day," Patrice advised. The worst decisions were often made by the sleep-deprived. "Sleep on it."

Andy snorted. "Sleep on it when?"

* * *

When she awoke, it was almost like waking at home in the morning. Everything was bright, and it took her a minute to realize she didn't have her glasses. There was a moment of blind panic, and then she remembered. Unlike her first heart surgery, she knew what was happening, more or less. The first time had been terrifying, with no memory of what had happened and no understanding of where she was.

She must have made a noise, because there was suddenly a woman in scrubs leaning over her, smiling brightly.

"Hi, Sharon. Welcome back."

There wasn't any pain, just an odd sensation. On one hand, it felt like she was floating, weightless, yet her body somehow felt heavier than could be possible.

"Can you wiggle your fingers for me? Good. Other hand? Good." She quietly checked the monitors and made notes as she talked to her patient. "You're in recovery, and it's about four in the afternoon. Same day, Wednesday."

There was noise somewhere past her feet, and then Dr. Torres appeared.

"Hey, Sharon. We've got good news for you." He was efficient, checking over his handiwork as he talked. "Everything went well, really well, actually. We took the LVAD out pretty easily and the donor heart passed all of our tests, so we proceeded. It took us about eight hours to do everything, right about what we expected, and I think you've been in recovery about an hour and a half now." He glanced at the nurse, who nodded in confirmation. "So far, so good."

"I don't know if you remember, but you've been in and out a couple times already," the nurse said. "That's normal, but I'm glad we're actually getting to say hi to you this time."

"Remember when we put the LVAD in, how we took you off the ventilator?" Torres asked. He watched her expression shift slowly. "Yeah, I know. It should be a little easier this time. It'll be faster, too. I think we'll have you free and clear in a few hours. We'll let Andy come back then, maybe, okay?"

Sharon could feel clarity returning. As the man was talking, his words seemed to resonate more then they had even just minutes before. Despite that, she drifted in and out all evening, not sleeping deeply as before, but deeply enough that time was ambiguous. Breathing on her own was easier than the last time, but it was still painful and took longer than she'd have liked. They were being careful with her medication, something about watching for respiratory depression, so they were giving her just enough to keep the pain somewhat manageable without completely snowing her under. She remembered seeing lights flashing as they pushed her down a hallway past a fish tank, and an elevator, but she didn't remember getting to her new room.

When she truly awoke again, it early morning. Pale, pre-dawn light was filtering in, and there was an odd quiet around her. The room was silent in all the ways her condo wasn't but still full of mechanical noise. Something weighed her hand down, but when she turned her head to look, she found Andy's hand resting on hers. He was out cold in a pleather armchair that had been unfolded into some semblance of a small bed.

"Hey." Her voice was hoarse and soft, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Hey, idiot."

Andy jerked awake and looked around disconcertedly before catching her gaze. He broke into a wide grin. "Hey, yourself." He stood up and stretched his arms over his head, then sat on her bed, careful not to shift it much. "It's good to see you."

She smiled and used her free hand to rub her face. "Good morning to you, too. Is it?"

"Morning? Yeah. It's, uh, Thursday now, I guess. How do you feel?"

She wrinkled her nose at the question. She'd been asked that far too many times over the last several months. "Like I got hit by a truck. Or a few dozen beanbag guns."

Andy laughed. "Sorry, it's not funny, but I'm glad to hear you talking."

"Mmm. How did it go?" She was propped up, halfway between sitting and laying flat. Her hips ached from the position, but the pain paled in comparison to her chest. Taking a shot to the vest hurt far less.

"Really well."

"Mhmm?"

"Yeah. So far, so good."

She shifted slightly, trying to find a new position that didn't move her upper body. "How's Rusty? How are you doing?"

"We're good. I sent the kid to work yesterday, but he'll be by a little later today."

"And you?" She let her eyes close again and pulled one foot up to the opposite knee like a passé, shifting her hips again.

"I'm good."

She replied with another skeptical hum.

"Really." He paused then reached for something out of her view. "Want your glasses?"

"If you put them on me." She was thoroughly uninterested in moving any part of her upper body that didn't have to be moved. Andy gently settled her glasses over her ears, and she slowly moved one hand to readjust them.

"Just so you know, I think the staff'll be in in a few minutes to check on you. They've been here a few times already since they let me in."

"Good."

He studied her face carefully, noting her breathing and stiff posture. "It hurts pretty bad, doesn't it?" It wasn't really a question, as the answer was written all over her body.

"Yes." She forced her eyes open again, just in time to see a nurse tap the sliding door and step in.

"Hi, Lieutenant."

Andy caught the look his wife shot him. He'd automatically introduced himself to the ICU staff as 'Lieutenant Flynn' before remembering he wasn't at work.

"Sharon, I'm Victoria, Vic, and I'm your nurse today, alright? We've got orders to get some pain control rolling for you, and I'd like to take a look at your incision, okay?"

Andy tuned the words out. He didn't mean to, but he'd seen the routine so many times that he just sat back and watched through a bleary haze of exhaustion. Sharon nodded in response to some question, then said a number to answer another. He tried to refocus once Vic began to pull back the dressing.

"So the incision is like your last one. It's glued shut, and you've got half a dozen sternal wires holding your breastbone together, okay?"

Sharon watched through half-lidded eyes. "And the wires are like last time, too?"

"They won't affect airport scanners or an MRI, yes."

"Mm. And I shouldn't feel these, either?"

"No. They twist the ends together and then tuck them down so they shouldn't poke up. You might feel some sharp pain as your bone is healing, but it should stop soon. Speaking of-"

"Sternal precautions?" Sharon asked quietly.

"Yep. Don't lift more than five pounds, don't pull or push with your arms or outstretch your arms."

"Mmkay."

"Don't fall asleep on me," Vic added with a smile.

Sharon made a small noise that might have been a laugh.

"Four to six weeks, but final clearance will be up to the Doc."

"Right." Sharon tolerated the rest of her physical inspection before switching subjects. "I'm sorry, but can we get going on some kind of pain medication?"

Andy snapped awake again.

"Yes. We're starting with opioids, okay? Hydromorphone- dilaudid- and alternating it with non-narcotics." Vic stripped her gloves off quickly and washed her hands as she spoke. "You're probably going to need some serious relief today, and then we'll start cutting the dilaudid back tomorrow if things go well. See how far we can get with non-opioids. The problem with them is that they can irritate your stomach and kidneys, so we'll be watching that." She snapped on a new pair of gloves, picked up a small vial and a syringe. "IV dilaudid, oral ibuprofen."

Vic stayed in the room another few minutes as Sharon slowly relaxed. She issued a few more instructions to Andy, then slipped out.

He turned his attention back to his wife. "Better?"

"Yes." She fumbled blindly for his hand. "I don't know how you made it through this without narcotics. You're incredible."

The drugs were kicking in, he realized. Sharon never used 'incredible' as a positive descriptor. It was usually a way to express someone's level of idiocy. "Nah, babe. You're incredible. I just had a couple of little cuts. You've got the big one, _and_ you're a repeat offender."

The corners of her lips curled up. "Hmm."

"You think you'll sleep again?" He tried not to smile.

"No. . . why?" Her eyes were still closed, and her face had relaxed.

"I'm thinking about breakfast. Might see if the boys can bring something when they come over."

"Boys?" It was only a single word, but she managed to slur it.

"Ricky drove down last night."

"Mm." She mumbled something, and he had to ask her to repeat it. "Tell him grapes."

Andy bit back a laugh. "Okay." She wanted grapes. He knew she'd have to be cleared to eat solid food first, but earlier that morning, Torres had said he expected her to be ready by lunch. "I'll tell him."

There was no reply, not that'd he'd expected one. He checked his watch and decided to wait before texting Rusty. The two young men were probably already driving over and there was no need to distract them. He settled back in his chair and squeezed Sharon's hand again. With any small luck, they'd finally weathered their storm.

"I think you did it, babe."


	20. Slow Pony Home

_**A/N- You'll have to let me know if the characterization is okay. I really struggled to write Sharon in this chapter. I'm not sure if it's because I haven't watched the show since it ended or because "Limens Sharon" is separating from "James Duff Sharon." Conversely, Jack nearabouts wrote himself.**_

 ** _Side note- a buffet/bureau is a kind of cabinet (my mother used both terms) and the blue I_ _'_ _m seeing is_** ** _phthalocyanine._**

* * *

 _I laughed and smiled and didn't say "I am a bit afraid to be here."  
And all that time, I felt just fine / I held so many people in my suitcase heart_

 _-The Weepies_

* * *

In the end, Andy didn't have to make a decision about calling Jack. Less than a week after the transplant, Sharon had made up her own mind.

"Andy?"

He looked up from the book in his lap. While they were both glad for his time off, they didn't need to spend every moment of the day interacting. There was a small library on the counter that they were working through during the quieter hours.

"Yeah?"

Sharon had closed her paperback and pushed it away. "I think I should call Jack," she said bluntly. "It's not fair to have you or the kids tell him, and I think he deserves to know."

"I wouldn't say _deserves_ ," Andy replied. "But I was thinking the same thing the other day, about if we should call, I mean. What does he know about all of this?"

Sharon groaned. "That's the other problem. Can we go for a walk?"

He nodded and got up to press the call button before turning to his wife. After much scrutiny the previous day, the medical staff had decided to allow Sharon nearly free run of thirty feet of hallway outside her room. She'd denied any lightheadedness, dizziness, or tingling in her limbs. She promised not to push her limits too hard. She wouldn't walk anywhere alone. They'd watched her walk the length of her room and back first with a tech, and then with Andy before clearing her.

She sat on the edge of the bed and Andy passed her the heavy navy robe that had previously been his. He suspected it was now solely Sharon's.

"Socks?"

"Yep." There was a small pile of non-slip socks on the counter. He took two pairs and separated the socks, then rolled them up. Sharon watched curiously as he pitched one at her. She caught the second one, and snorted as the third one unrolled and flopped short on the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"If you wanna walk, you need four balls first."

She laughed and swatted at the fourth pitch as the nurse stuck her head in.

"It's getting rowdy in here!"

Sharon tried to organize the mess on the bed. "I wanted to go for a walk?" It wasn't phrased like a question, but she was awaiting permission nevertheless.

"Sure. Let me just grab one of the telemetry units." The nurse disappeared again, but they could hear her talking at the station.

Sharon began slipping the socks on. "I know I shouldn't feel like I owe him anything, but. . ." She sighed exasperation and straightened the socks' elastic.

"Thirty years is a long time, babe."

"Hmm."

The nurse slipped back in and disconnected the IV, then took all the cardiac monitoring wires and unplugged them from the wall monitor. The large grey plug was connected to a hand-sized recording unit, which the nurse passed to Sharon to tuck into the hospital gown's lone pocket. "All set."

Sharon stayed silent until she had her feet on the floor and she and Andy were making their slow way down the hall.

"He used to send me postcards."

Andy stayed silent, letting her sort through the memories.

"When he traveled for work, he'd send me postcards from wherever he was. They were mostly from California, some from Vegas, a few from wherever the regional defense attorneys' annual meeting was. He was really good, when he put his mind to it." Sharon looked up at her new husband, searching his face. "He was the board treasurer for a few years." She shook her head and looked away. "I think he did a decent job of that as well, surprisingly enough."

Andy shrugged. "Just because he had some faults-"

"Big ones."

"-doesn't mean he didn't have some good attributes."

"Don't I know." Sharon sighed heavily. "He was a good father for a couple years. He was a good husband for a few, too. A really good friend before that. Those postcards, he started sending them to me over the summer after freshman year of college. We mailed back and forth a little, and then he kept going. When we were dating, he'd send me postcards of places we'd been. Some of them were easy, like Santa Monica Pier, but-" Sharon smiled thinly. "There was this bookstore we'd go to, just browse around for hours, and- obviously- there wasn't a postcard of that, so he took a Polaroid of it and glued it down on a piece of cardstock. By the time we got married, I kept them all in a shoebox, there were so many. I was pretty flustered right before the wedding, I remember. We were young, and short on cash and stressed, and I didn't even notice my box went missing for a week. Jack took them all and put them in a photo album. He wrote little notes next to them. It was very sweet." She fell silent for a long minute. "It was probably one of the best things he gave me, after the kids. I think. . . I think it's still on the bookshelf by the desk. Or not by the desk, actually." She laughed, spirits lifting. "I keep forgetting that we've moved, officially moved."

"The house is pretty great. I think you'll really like it."

She laughed. "I should hope so, since we already bought it."

"Commander Smartass. Everything's more or less in the right rooms, and the movers got the furniture all set up. I haven't really unpacked much except for what I really needed. And your box of dresses, yeah, I remembered. I hung them up in the closet last night. They don't look too wrinkled."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "I don't even want to know what you think is acceptably wrinkled."

"According to Ricky, wrinkled jeans are fashionable. Apparently they make and sellthem wrinkled now."

"Oh, don't listen to Ricky for fashion advise. _That_ could be grounds for divorce."

"Hey, you raised him. He didn't get it from anyone else."

Sharon grimaced and pulled her phone out of her pocket. "You know, speaking of men's clothes, you always have better pockets."

"You would know."

She pulled the robe's pocket inside out. "I'll admit, I _am_ a connoisseur, but honestly, Andy, none of _my_ robes even have pockets, and this one is bigger than my hand."

He reached over and settled his hand over hers and the pocket. "Good thing my hands are big enough for both then, hmm?"

She cast him a sideways smile and began to dial, keeping ahold of his hand with her free one.

After a minute, Jack's voice rolled over the phone's speaker. "Shar-on! It's been a while."

"Yes, it has. Jack, is now an okay time to talk?"

"Yeah, yeah. How've you been? Still frying the big fishes up in Major Crimes?"

"When I'm there. Listen, Jack-"

"When you're there?" He echoed. "Are you getting promoted? I dare say, they shoulda done that a while ag-"

"No, no." Sharon softly shut him down. "That's what I wanted to talk about. I don't know if the kids have been talking much-"

"Not so much since," his tone changed and he sighed heavily. "Since that one Christmas a couple years ago. That was kind of, a uhm, a wake-up call, let's say."

Sharon's expression didn't change. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah." There was another sigh, and then Jack refocused. "So what were you saying? Not a promotion, but. . .?"

"I've been pretty sick this last year, Jack." She said it with as much steadiness as she could muster. "And I wanted to let you know. I. . . I feel like I should've done a better job keeping you in the loop."

There was a brief pause. "You don't owe me anything, Sharon. You never did, really. Don't beat yourself up about it."

This time, the surprise did register on Sharon's face. She glanced up at Andy, eyes wide. "I don't know what to s-"

"You don't have to say anything, either, hon. It's okay. But, uh, what's. . . what's been wrong? It's not cancer, is it?"

"No. No, it's not. I- we're hoping the worst is over now, but I had a heart transplant." There was no easy way to say it, especially now that it had happened.

"What?" For once, Jack sounded completely stunned. _"What?"_

"Mmhm."

"Wow. Way to drop a load of bricks on a guy." He chuckled uneasily. "What happened?"

She shook her head and bumped her shoulder against Andy's as they continued to walk. "Just bad luck. I got the flu and it went after my heart, and long story short, it went downhill from there. The transplant just happened a few days ago, actually." It felt strange to say it.

"And you're already up and going?"

"Mostly upright and slowly going," she amended.

"Wow," he said again. "Gee, Shar, that's. . . That's one hell of a stroke of bad luck. The kids know?"

"Yes. They were out at Christmas and in the spring." She didn't want to rub that fact in his face, but she didn't want to keep secrets, either.

She could almost hear Jack thinking. "You know, I did see some kind of weird stuff on Emily's, uh, Instantgram, or whatever it's called. Buncha old photos and some stuff about how much she loved her family. I thought she'd broken up with a boyfriend or something. It didn't even occur to me. . ." he trailed off again. "Gee." There was another long silence before he continued. "Is your Andy taking good care of you?"

 _Your Andy._ Sharon huffed a slight laugh. She was impressed that he'd been keeping up with the kids on social media. She hadn't even known Jack had any social media accounts, but, to be fair, she kept her few accounts private and didn't 'follow' anyone but her children and close friends. "Yes, he is, thank you for asking. He's been very good. The whole team has, really. They've been- they've been wonderful, really."

"Good, good. I'm glad to hear it. Well, not glad, but ah-"

"I understand, Jack. Thank you."

"Ah, you're not home, are you?"

"No, still at the hospital, and probably another week. Why?"

"Would it be alright if I came by and said hello?"

Sharon looked to Andy again, and he shrugged. He couldn't hear the conversation too well, but he'd gotten the gist.

"That would be fine. Just call when you know when you'll be over, maybe?" _So I can clear the kids and the husband from the room_ went unsaid but understood.

"Yeah, of course. Will do."

She could see him, in her mind's eye, rubbing the back of his neck, head bowed, like he always had when he felt anything but confident.

"Yeah. Feel better, hon."

"Thanks, Jack."

"Yeah. Bye."

"Bye." She closed out of the call and dropped the phone back into the pocket that wasn't sandwiched between her hand and Andy's.

They turned and made another lap before he spoke.

"That went okay?"

"Yes. He'll come by later, but I'll run a little interference."

"Alright. Sounds good to me. I might swing by Parker Center and see what's going on." He'd be back to work far sooner than she, and there was only so much he could glean about a case over the phone.

Sharon saw through his facade anyways. "Thank you."

"Sure thing, babe."

She didn't lead him past her room again. Instead, she pulled him inside, tired from her few laps and conversation. He helped her get settled again, then sat on the side of the bed.

"You're sure you want to do this?"

"Mhm. I'm sure."

"Okay. I'll head out then. Hobbs is finishing her depositions for the Stroh trial this week. I think you and I are the last two."

Sharon groaned. "I love Andrea, but this is starting to grate on me."

"Starting?" Andy chuckled. "It started to grate about ten years ago." He began gathering his belongings and sliding them into his pockets. "It'll be over soon. I know Provenza's doing his best to keep you in the dark for now, but Hobbs said that Stroh's not getting extradited. She's going to mention his out-of-state and international charges, but she's going for the death penalty in California rather than just a millennium of jail time. The FBI agreed to keep their hands off him, but that doesn't mean Interpol or the State Department won't try and weasel in here, I guess."

"We can hope."

He leaned in for a brief kiss and then started for the door. "Call me if you need me."

* * *

For the first time since he met her, Jack felt like a stranger in his wife- _ex-wife's_ \- life. He asked for her at the hospital registration desk, and the woman there asked his relation. He paused.

 _Ex_ seemed strange, but _husband_ wasn't true. _Friend_ wasn't quite right, either, and they still had the same name. A second realization hit him. She'd kept _Raydor_ for the sake of her career, but she was _Sharon Flynn_ now, for the most part.

"Might be Flynn now, not Raydor. She just got married. And I'm a family friend," he said with a smile, hoping to make up for the awkward silence.

The woman didn't seem to care. "A-672. Sixth floor, take a left, straight through the intersection, and a right at the end of the hall to get to the cardiac ward, okay?"

"Yep, thank you." He followed her directions, only taking one wrong turn before he reached the right room. There was a sign on the door asking visitors to wash their hands, so he turned around and someone pointed him to a sink. He was almost glad to have a moment before seeing his wi- Sharon. He hadn't seen her in over a year, since the spring after the disastrous Christmas. He wasn't sure if that was coincidence, or if she was deliberately passing cases involving his clients off to other divisions. It didn't really matter either way, he supposed.

After he dried his hands, he rounded the corner and took a moment to look through the glass paned door. She was reading something and hadn't noticed him. Her hair was shorter and darker than he remembered and she looked frail, cloaked by a quilt he recognized from many years before.

Jack shook himself and stepped forward to knock on the doorframe.

"Sharon?"

She straightened up somewhat and waved him in, setting the book aside. "Hello, Jack."

"Hey." He pointed to one of the chairs along the wall. "Mind if I. . .?"

"Go ahead."

He dragged it over to her left side, opposite where Andy had clearly been. Jack was silent, and Sharon did nothing to interrupt, knowing he'd speak eventually.

"I. . ." He trailed off again.

Sharon reached for his hand and held it between both of hers, letting them settle at her hip. "Jack. I'm okay."

He glanced up at that and gave her a wry smile. "Come on, Sharon, we've known each other long enough that we're past the point of trying to fake it."

She chuckled despite herself, and Jack smiled more openly for a moment.

"But really, how are you? You sounded pretty tired on the phone."

"I am. It's been a long year. A long week."

"How's that heart working for you?"

She shrugged, forgetting the motion would hurt until she'd begun it. "Fine, so far. I don't think I'm even out of the gate with it yet, so to speak."

"Yeah? It just. . . stays there?"

She smiled again. "Yes. Even I need a heart."

"Hey." He lifted his hands up. "I never said you didn't have one. _That_ was all the LAPD."

She raised an eyebrow, and he lowered his hands.

"Withdrawn, your Honor." He ran his thumb over her knuckles, the motion familiar to both of them. "So, you found out last Christmas? Some present." Christmas wasn't treating either of them well, it seemed.

"A few weeks before, actually." She looked away, and her face tightened. "I passed out at work, and EMS put me on a heart monitor and the paramedic saw something odd, I guess. And then, uhm. . ." her voice trembled. "I, it happened again a couple times. Almost."

"Almost?"

"I didn't pass out, just blacked out for a second. I had a defibrillator placed."

"Jesus, Sharon."

"And I saw a specialist, and. . . it was a mess," she sighed. "It was, just, everything all at once. The wedding, and Phillip Stroh, the kids were coming out for Christmas, and there was this horrible, _horrible_ case with children involved." She paused again, running her thumb under each eye.

Jack watched her quietly. Kids always got to her, always had and apparently always would. "Hey, hon, you don't have to tell me all this if-"

"No, it's okay. I just feel so _stupid_ in retrospect. I can see how sick I was, how much stress it all was. I tried to call off the wedding-" she rolled her eyes. "But I really should have just called off work."

"Sharon." Jack cut in again. "I might not have been the best husband, but I knew a lot about you. Still do. And you're not stupid. You're an overachiever, you're passionate, and maybe a little too straight-laced sometimes, but you're not stupid."

She sighed and looked up at him. "It wasn't smart to keep working. Everyone told me that."

"Yeah, but one bad decision doesn't mean you're stupid or bad or anything like that. I mean-" he grimaced and decided to come clean. "Christmas of '16? That was one _hell_ of a bad decision, but you don't think I'm total idiot. Maybe most of an idiot, but not because of that one decision. Provenza and Flynn? All those times you came home just furious at them, you know, like the body in the garage and the time their car rolled down a hill and smashed the evidence? And now you've married Flynn. Even the kids, hell, Rusty made some utterly asinine choices, and you still love the kid. Give yourself a chance, Sharon."

She drew her knees up and carefully shifted position before finally picking her story up again. "I, I. . . well, it was bad, Jack, and I don't really want to think about it, but I had emergency surgery and they placed a. . . an assistive pump because my heart was failing. I guess people just live the rest of their lives with that, or they can have it taken out once their heart has rested enough, but. . . I guess-"

"You just gave too many pieces of your heart away, huh? So many people for you to love."

She reached for his hand again, squeezed it tightly, and nodded.

* * *

Andy rummaged in his desk drawer for a toothpick, listening to Provenza argue with Hobbs.

"So how are we working the Rusty thing?"

The lawyer roller her eyes. "The Rusty thing?"

"The _Rusty was more or less rescued by the lead investigator in the Stroh case, adopted by said investigator, and then shot the defendant with a gun given to him by that same investigator and is the legal aid to the prosecution_ thing."

Andrea groaned tiredly. "Look, we've been over this a dozen times. Rusty isn't my assistant on this case, and we're going to lay the whole thing out just like he did."

"And since when has that been a good idea?"

"Since the kid had the best motives out of any of us." Andrea crossed her arms and then turned to the portable whiteboard behind her, uncapping an Expo marker. "He didn't want to be a drain on resources, so he got the Commander to train him." She underlined the point on the board and aggressively drew a line to the next point. "You were undermanned, like the rest of the LAPD, and Rusty took the initiative to be your back-up, despite being told not to. He felt that letting you get hurt on his account was unacceptable, so he did what he'd learned to do. He protected your back." She circled the final point and rolled her eyes. "Not the most by-the-book mission this division has undertaken, but I do believe your unit specializes in out-of-the-box investigation?"

"Stroh's going to argue that Sharon tried to buy a witness. She got Rusty in school and has been his sole caretaker for the last six and a half years."

"He got a job when he was eightee-"

"That's still two years of financial-"

"Okay, but almost everything can be classified as-"

"Yes, and-"

"Look." Andrea shoved the rollaway whiteboard away to view the large one on the wall. "Can we get back to the case at hand? The one that we're actively working?" Provenza had dragged the rollaway with the Stroh trial strategy over nearly an hour before, citing a singular question that had snowballed into a massive argument.

Andy stopped paying attention and rolled his chair towards Mike, the other man meeting him halfway. "They've been at it like this all day?"

"Yes," Mike muttered. "All week. I think Hobbs has this all nailed down, honestly. This case and the Stroh one. Provenza's just worried and trying not to show it. Not unjustified."

"Stroh's pretty good."

"Hobbs is better. I think she's lived and breathed this case and only this case since, well, since Emma."

"I didn't know they were so close."

"If it had been you or me or Amy. . ." Mike trailed off.

"We'd be the same way, yeah, okay. Closing ranks." Andy fiddled with the toothpick. "Anything of note I should know?"

"Hobbs expects Stroh to really go after the Commander. And we don't know if he knows you're married. Andrea doesn't want to give it away if he doesn't, but we're expecting he does. We're guessing he was keeping tabs on her the whole time he was on the run. It's not hard to put a news alert on someone or just google their name."

"Yeah, Sharon figured as much. She thinks she's ready, and I know she's been working with Hobbs, but-" Andy raised his eyebrows and pitched the toothpick into the trash. "I guess we'll see."

"Trial is set for July 9th, that's the first day we're all supposed to show up. Eight AM, no courtroom assignment yet, but I'm guessing it'll be room 4, since every paper and law agency in the country going to want in on this."

"Something you want to share with the class?" Provenza called.

"Nah." Andy shook his head. "Keep arguing. We'll wait."

"Just catching Andy up," Mike replied. Once Provenza returned his attention to Hobbs, he continued. "Do you think the Commander will be ready?"

"Mentally? Yeah."

"Physically?"

Andy reached over and tapped his knuckles on Mike's desk. "Assuming no setbacks, yeah. She's doing good in therapy, I mean, it's only day four, but they said she's off to a good start. No signs of rejection or graft failure. They're expecting to release her by the weekend. We'll have to go back every week for check-ups and biopsies for the rest of the month."

"Good, good."

"The trial's not really physical, so I think she'll be okay. The doc said the really emotional stuff shouldn't get to her as much as it did before."

"Makes sense. This heart will be much more elastic-" Mike closed his eyes and held up a hand. "I'll cut myself off there."

"How are all of you feeling about this?"

"Relieved? Angry? Nervous, primarily."

Andy nodded. "So we're all in the same boat."

"Sounds like it. Say, I hate to bring this up, but what happens if she can't make the trial?"

Andy shifted in his chair and was silent for a long moment. "Andrea's been working on a special contract with the judge for Sharon to be interviewed over Skype or something like that. Worst case, Sharon's prepared a modified impact statement."

"Like Rusty did?"

"Yeah. It's about thirty pages long, and not as good as having her in person, but they both figure it's better than no testimony at all."

"I suppose so."

They both lapsed into silence, trying not to think about Sharon's rationale for writing her statement.

"Well," Mike leaned back in his chair. "I, for one, would love to have a potluck after this is all over and help the Commander burn that statement, page by page. It sounds. . . therapeutic, and thirty pages is enough for all of us to have some."

"You've got a deal. I'll make sure the back porch is ready to go, and we can make it a dual housewarming and post-trial celebration."

"I'll bring dogs and buns, see if Kathy has another jar of the relish she made."

"You're on."

* * *

Five days later, Sharon was released to go home. Rusty came by early in the morning and began packing the several new bouquets of flowers that had gathered since her transplant. He had set two of them into a milk crate before Sharon reached over and stopped him.

"What if we donate some of these to the ward here?"

Rusty looked back over his shoulder. "Seriously? I would like that a lot. I mean, it's a nice gesture and all, and I'm sure everyone here will love them, but it also means I don't have to haul them all down to the car and back up to the con- to the house. I mean this in the nicest way possible, Mom, but you've got too many friends for them to all be sending you flowers and sh- stuff."

 _You've got too many friends._ Sharon smiled at him, drawing her knees up and resting her chin atop them. She'd never have thought she'd hear that phrase. "Let's just pick our favorites, fill one box."

"Okay." Rusty withdrew the flowers he'd already packed and turned on his heel. "Okay, you gotta take this one because it's from Patrice and the team." _This one_ was a modest arrangement of mums and sunflowers. "And this, because it's from Andrea and Brenda and Chief Howard." _And this_ was almost tasteful. It was an array of violently pink flowers, in every shade of pink- natural and unnatural- that Sharon thought flowers could possibly come in. Nevertheless, it made her smile. "Okay, what do you like?"

Sharon pointed them out: a potted orchid from her family and the few other potted flowers. They'd last at home, maybe even survive long term, and the vases of flowers she'd leave with the hospital wouldn't need any upkeep. "That's good. Can you check at the nurses' station, see if they're okay with adopting all these flowers?"

"Yeah. Do you need anything else before Andy gets here? No? Okay. I'll just meet you at home then."

Sharon looked around the room after he left, trying to see if any last belongings were hiding out. When nothing turned up, she settled in the chair closest to the window and picked up the stuffed rabbit Nicole had given her. She had apparently taken her step-sons to a Build-A-Bear, and they had wanted to pick out something for Sharon, as well. Nicole had sworn up and down that the boys had noticed Sharon's heart-shaped pillow from the hospital and do it one better. The pillow was supposed to keep her from straining her breastbone when she coughed or laughed if she held it tight to her chest. The boys had decided a large rabbit was better, and the cardiologist hadn't disapproved.

The outfit was what made Sharon truly treasure the gift. The rabbit had come dressed in a police officer's uniform, with a pair of little star-shaped sequins sewn to the collar. Nicole had clearly taken extra effort to find the correct insignia, find sequins, and then sew them on.

Andy knocked on the doorframe and stepped into the room, interrupting her reverie. "Ready?"

She chuckled. "Most definitely." She picked up the rabbit and the folder of discharge paperwork, and then settled herself in the wheelchair parked by the door. Andy swung her purse over his shoulder.

"Kid got everything else?"

"Yes."

Nonetheless, Andy did one last cursory sweep of the room before stepping behind her. "Say goodbye."

She rolled her eyes and lightly pushed on the chair's wheels herself. The force she could muster was no where near enough to get her moving, but it got the point across.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming." He pushed her out the door, only to slow down at the nurses' station. A small crowd of staff had gathered to wish her well and see her off. After that, Andy steered his wife down to the front entrance of the hospital where the valet had their sedan lined up in the pull through.

Sharon literally put her foot down at the hospital door to stop the wheelchair and walked to the car with Andy. He got her settled, passed her her purse, and circled around to the driver's side. He reversed slightly, then pulled away from the curb, into the sunlight. Sharon leaned against the window and watched the city pass by.

"It feels surreal."

Andy glanced over at the next red light. "What does?"

She shrugged. "Leaving. I feel like I've been living in the hospital."

"Well. . ."

"I know. This was, what? Our third week-plus stay since February? The fifth since December?"

"Something like that."

She held her rabbit to her chest and sighed. "I'm glad to be going home to-" She stumbled to a stop. "Home."

He grinned. "Yeah, you haven't actually been there yet."

"No." Her spirits started rising again. "Do you like it?"

"I'll like it better once you're there, but yes. Those curtains you picked for the living room are perfect. And the furniture is all together. I didn't get around to hanging your ballet prints in the guest room, but-"

Sharon reached over and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry about it."

Less than half an hour later, they were pulling into their driveway. Sharon stopped a foot away from the car, staring up the half dozen stairs to the yard and house.

"Oh, it's beautiful. I swear, it looks different."

"Well, Andrea made Rusty mow the lawn, so that helped." Andy grinned at her. "And the sunflowers are blooming now."

Sharon rose onto her toes to get a better look, then started for the stairs. Andy grabbed her arm.

"What?"

"Stairs." He raised his eyebrows, and she made a dismissive noise.

"It's five steps, I can-"

"I know you can, but just because you can doesn't mean you should. I seem to remember you telling Rusty that phrase more than once. The doc said not to take stairs."

"I think he meant whole flights."

"Doc said not to take the stairs," Andy repeated. "Besides, I've always wanted to do this."

"Do wha-!" She shrieked as he swept her off her feet and tossed her slightly to reposition. "Andy, no-"

"Babe, it's okay, I promise." He'd gotten the idea when they'd seriously started talking about buying a house. He had lifted weights with Tao semi-regularly over the past decade, so it wasn't hard to work in carrying Sharon's weight over an appropriate distance. Mike had been rather bemused, but understanding.

Sharon wrapped one arm around his neck, sitting more upright as he climbed the narrow stairs.

The house came fully into view, still better looking than she remembered. It had a stone front with several windows and a cheery red door. The previous owners had planted sunflowers in the flower beds along the front of the house, and they risen high before the stones. Andy fumbled with the keys for a moment, then kicked the door open and carried Sharon into the foyer before setting her on her feet. All the time training was worth it when he saw the wide smile on her face. She leaned forward to drop a kiss on his lips before pulling back.

"Show me around?"

He led her to their right into the living room with her curtains. It was painted pale yellow, with her orange and red furniture occupying it and her desk in the corner.

"We have the den or whatev-"

"Family room?"

"Yeah. Back through here." The back wall had wide windows, a glass back door, and was separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar.

"This poor kitchen is the cleanest it'll ever be."

"Hey." Andy pointed a finger at her. "I'm not the one who leaves crusty oatmeal bowls-"

"The dining room is up front again, right? And we used your dining set?"

He rolled his eyes at her, but let it go. They finished looking through the downstairs and made their way back to the staircase in the foyer. Andy eyed the stairs, trying to figure out how to carry Sharon around the landing.

"Andy, it's not practical to carry me every time I want to go up."

"Maybe not, but I'm here now, so it's no trouble. Besides the doc said no stairs."

"He meant if I could avoid them. Besides, this is only- how many?"

"Eighteen. They're oak, like the rest of the floor." He leaned on the bannister. "If you're set on this, go ahead. I'd rather you do it now while I'm here than when you're alone."

She made a small noise under her breath. "Overbearing."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Now you know how I felt."

Sharon reached for the bannister and tried to stifle a smile. Her humor fell away as she realized that she couldn't use the railing for more than balance. Pulling any weight tugged on her chest and it hurt more than she'd expected. She glanced back and found Andy watching her closely, though he hadn't moved in to help.

"Okay?"

"Mm." She stepped up carefully and hadn't gotten to the landing before she heard his heavier footfalls behind her. "I'm doing alright." By the time she'd reached the top she felt flushed and was trying to hide just how out of breath she was. Apparently the week in the hospital had set back the physical training she'd done since getting the LVAD. She wanted to be surprised by the fact, but she felt more resigned to it than anything else. It seemed like everything was more of a struggle than it needed to be.

There was a final thump, and Andy stepped up behind her. "Okay?"

She sighed and nodded, but he seemed to get the gist.

"Come on. This front room is a great office." His desk, being larger, was up here with her bookshelves and the old rocking chair she'd bought the first time she was pregnant. "Bathroom. And then this is Rusty's room, at least for now. The kids' room, either way. And this is our room." He pulled her down the hall to the master. Just inside, there was a door to the connected bathroom, and past that, the walk in closet that had iced the cake. Both of them were clotheshorses, he'd willingly admit to that, and the closet- whilst nonessential- was welcomed.

"When did you paint it?" Sharon let go of Andy's hand and wandered further in. It had been an off-white when they viewed the house, a dingy color Sharon had likened to masking tape. Three of the walls were now rosy cream, and the fourth- with the closet and bathroom- was a deep blue. Two posters thing on the wall- a retro Dodgers one and a similarly styled one advertising a Nutcracker performance. Sharon leaned in closer for a moment, then turned to look at her husband. "Wh-?" The question died on her lips.

"They're from Emily and Nic. I think you can guess who did which one. They got the idea somewhere and went looking for matching prints."

"Rusty helped. The day after your transplant. You were pretty out of it. Patrice stayed with you. Do you remember?"

She shook her head. "I remember seeing her, but I don't know if it was that day."

"Either way." He watched as she stuck her head into the spacious bathroom, then the closet. He had hung both their clothes and was glad of it, given her discerning eye. After a few minutes, she came back out and went to one of the two windows at the front of the room and cranked it open.

She took a deep breath and flopped back onto the bed. "You're right. I love the house."

He laughed and settled next to her. "I'm right? Can I get that on tape?"

"Nice try, but you'll need to work harder for a confession, Lieutenant." She rolled over and buried her face in the duvet.

"What?"

She lifted her head. "I'm glad to be home." She shifted again, curling on her side to watch him.

"Tired?"

She smiled faintly. "I've done nothing but rest."

"Dinner's not for a couple hours. Provenza said Patrice is cooking something and they'll bring it over, so we don't have to worry about going to the store." He unfolded the heavy blanket from the end of the bed. "Do you want to get changed?"

"I just want my pants off." She grinned at him. "No games."

He held up a hand. "No games, on my honor."

"What honor?"

He snorted, reaching for the waistband of her leggings. "Witch." He snapped the elastic against her hip and she laughed. "Okay, okay." If he was younger, and the circumstances different, it could've been a game, but now it was simply a way of life. Sharon hadn't _minded_ when the nursing staff helped her change from clothes to gown and vice versa, but she felt far more comfortable with Andy. During the longer stays at the hospital, he had mastered the art of helping her change clothes while flat on her back and in pain. She hated it, hated that she couldn't do it herself, and he could see why. She'd always been fiercely independent, and had suddenly be come very dependent over the last several months.

She shimmied out of the leggings and kicked them over the edge of the bed. Andy reached for them, but she shook her head.

"Leave them be for now. I just want to enjoy the quiet with you."

It _was_ quiet, he noticed. No IV pumps beeping or monitors trilling their alarms. He couldn't overhear conversations about patient care and jokes about night shift and caffeine consumption. The air smelled like grass clippings, not sanitizer.

"Wow."

Sharon grinned at him. "Stay here."

"Don't want to be anywhere else, babe." He pulled the blanket up and over her, draping one arm across her waist as she buried her face in his shirt. Her breathing slowed, and he told himself he'd just close his eyes for a minute.

* * *

"Mom?" Rusty bumped the front door open with his hip, keeping a hold on the crate of flowers Sharon wanted. "Andy?"

He set the crate down on the bureau and stuck his head into the living room. The house was bright with afternoon sunlight, but silent. He walked back into the foyer and looked around. Andy's car had been parked out front, and his shoes and Sharon's were on the mud rug by the door. A thought hit him, and he crept up the stairs, trying to keep the creaking to a minimum.

Their bedroom door was open and Rusty looked in. He smiled at the sight and pulled his phone out. Sharon and Andy were both sprawled across the bed, cattywampus. Sharon had that stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest, and Andy was holding her like she was his rabbit toy. Rusty made sure his ringer was off, then snapped a photo and sent it to Ricky and Emily.

 _To: Emmy, Ricky_

 _Made it home. All good._

 _[1 image attached]_

* * *

 _ **Coincidentally, Maxi99, it seems to be your lucky day (;**_


End file.
